


Promises of Tomorrow

by ktfranceebee



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Car Accidents, Complete, Depression, Flash Forward, Frottage, Happy Ending, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Procedures, Medication, Panic Attacks, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Suicidal Thoughts, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-13 20:40:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3395603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktfranceebee/pseuds/ktfranceebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Based off of the show FlashForward.  On February 22, 2016, the world completely blacked out for one minute and seven seconds. During this time, everyone had a vision of the future. Some saw good things, some saw what might be their death, and some saw nothing. Dave Karofsky is a 4th year resident at Ronald Reagan Hospital at UCLA, and he’s been struggling more than he wants to admit. Things just aren’t going well for him. He goes down to the pier and is about to kill himself, but then suddenly he passes out. He wakes up after the vision, intrigued, confused, and a little bit terrified by what he saw. When he returns to the hospital, he finds the life he has to save is none other than the man he saw in his vision—his future husband.</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. Blacking Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based off of the show FlashForward. On February 22, 2016, the world completely blacked out for one minute and seven seconds. During this time, everyone had a vision of the future. Some saw good things, some saw what might be their death, and some saw nothing. Dave Karofsky is a 4th year resident at Ronald Reagan Hospital at UCLA, and he’s been struggling more than he wants to admit. Things just aren’t going well for him. He goes down to the pier and is about to kill himself, but then suddenly he passes out. He wakes up after the vision, intrigued, confused, and a little bit terrified by what he saw. When he returns to the hospital, he finds the life he has to save is none other than the man he saw in his vision—his future husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Very AU, but references to canon. Age difference (older Dave, younger Kurt). Suicidal ideations/botched suicide attempt, car accidents, traumatic injuries, references to death (no major characters), references to past alcoholism, depression, anxiety, hurt/comfort, blow jobs, frottage, and medical mumbo-jumbo.

"Excuse me…"

In the backseat of the unmoving cab, Kurt Hummel rapped his knuckles against the glass window that separated him with the driver—the front seat with the back seat. He squirmed anxiously in his leather, cushioned seat before unbuckling his belt as he leaned forward to speak through the partition.

"Is there any way we could, I don't know, hurry up just a little bit." He grimaced. He hated to be rude, but he couldn't afford to be late to his internship at Runway Magazine.  _Again._  As nice as his boss, Liliana, was, she warned him time and time again that though she wouldn't fire him, she couldn't guarantee he would receive his last three credits that he needed to graduate. That was something he would have to talk to his adviser about.

"Sorry, bud," the cab driver said with a bristle of his salt-and-pepper mustache. "Unless you want me to run the red light, we ain't goin' nowhere in this traffic."

Kurt sat back in his squashy seat with a soft harrumph as he crossed his arms. He could think of few things worse than traffic in California—the combination of the sun's harsh rays on his naturally alabaster skin being the one exception. Running the seven miles to work was beginning to seem like a faster alternative.

Thankfully, the light turned green, but before he could even begin to question how his day could get any worse, he minutely felt a sensation of complete and utter relaxation spread throughout his body. His head swam and his shoulders drooped. As an inky blackness began to spread from the edges of his vision in, he heard the growl of an engine revving before he saw, and heard, no more.

* * *

He couldn't have picked a better place to do it.

David Karofsky closed his eyes as he let himself smile for the first time in weeks. He inhaled deeply as he wrapped his hands around the tarnished, wave-worn metal banister of the pier. Drinking in the cold, salty air, he relished in the few droplets of water that had breached from the waves below and hit his face. It stung his cheeks and nose as if they weren't innocuous specks, but shards of unforgiving glass.

 _Innocuous…_  Dave had to snort. Innocuous would have been his parents teaching him how to swim before his body image issues hit him in his pubescent years only to follow him through high school. Though he had gotten over that and accepted himself as the burly and broad man that he was, he just… Never got around to learning that lifesaving skill.

He wasn't sure if he should call living half a mile from the beach ironic, fate, or intentional. After all, there were a number of catastrophes that could make his endeavor that much easier. A tsunami… Alaska was bound to have an earthquake one of these days, only to send the aftershocks to California—he wouldn't be surprised it Nostradamous predicted that shit himself. Then there was the potential of the San Andrea's fault giving its final "fuck you" and sending that entire state of fitness junkies and hipsters into join Hawaii…

Dave shook his head, casting that thought far out into the ocean much like the fishing line's of the fisherman who would normally sit where he was standing.

No. He truly didn't consider himself a vindictive enough man to wish that on anybody. He was apathetic where his life was concerned, but when it came to other people… He cared too damn much. It's why he decided to become a doctor, after all. But it's also why losing someone on the table kept him up at night, questioning,  _"Why that person? Why the mother of three kids, or why the child who barely got to see his life unfold?"_

So was he depressed…? _Yes._  Being shunned from his family at the age of 17 for being gay and going more than a hundred grand in debt just so he could have first row seats in seeing someone's life being extinguished would do that to a person.

Suicidal…?  _Obviously._  If he wasn't, then wouldn't have come down to the Santa Monica Pier in the middle of February at five thirty in the morning, shivering like an idiot, if he had to live with himself after the fact.

There was really no sense in delaying the inevitable. He wasn't happy—hadn't been for a long time. The time he spent with his head buried in an anatomy and physiology textbook from his freshman year of college till now only supplanted enjoyment with the diversion of productivity. And productivity was no substitute when it came to living a full life. And trying to save someone else's life was hypocritical when he cared so little about his own.

Dave exhaled the breath he was holding as the deoxygenated contents made his lungs throb. He wouldn't allow himself to contemplate whether the same would be said when they were filled with the briny waters from below, and instead, opened his eyes to the horizon to take in the orange glow that was creeping across the cloudy sky from the sunrise behind him. But before he could gather the strength and fortitude to push himself headlong over the railing, an inky blackness began to creep into his periphery as he felt his knees grow weak, and his eyes begin to droop against his will.

The last thing he heard over the waves crashing under him was a resounding crack, followed by a blinding amount of pain, and then he saw no more.

* * *

_Dave smiled. He couldn't remember the last time he had smiled like this. The feeling of joy in his chest was almost painful, made him choke on this foreign emotion that was swallowing him up like the waves under the pier._

_Only… There were no waves. There wasn't even any evidence that there had ever_ been _waves—no briny smell of fish or seaweed, no icy cold waters numbing his skin and filling his lungs._

 _This wasn't… He hadn't_ finally  _gone through with it… Had he?_

_Was this the afterlife?_

_The darkness that had flooded his vision was starting to ebb away… Slowly receding like a wave being drawn back into the ocean from the shore. And just as there was no smell of the ocean there was no tactile proof that his body was being dragged the sandy floor either. Instead he felt like… Yes. Like he was dreaming._

_As he looked around at his surroundings, he found he was sitting on a cream colored carpet in a tastefully, if not ostentatiously, decorated home. Far more decorated than his own apartment. He never had the patience to put that much thought, care, and money into his own living space. Not when he spent the majority of his time at the hospital anyways._

_He didn't know where he was._

_He felt like he should be panicking. Could he have been kidnapped? Or had somebody found his body in the water and took him to safety. A million questions seemed to run through his head, though strangely he felt no desire to find answers to any of them. Instead, he felt his body being dragged against its will. But… No… Not_ dragged _, per se. It was as though he was a tiny Dave, inside a bigger Dave, and he was just along for a ride. He wanted to be alarmed. After all, every part of his being told him he should be running to get out of that strange place he had never been before, but all he could do was leisurely roll onto his knees and crawl across the carpet like a dog on all fours until he found his eyes meeting with a pair of great big inky blue irises, full of an unbelievable amount of innocent, childlike curiosity._

_The smile on his face grew impossibly larger as he reached out. A tinkling laugh filling the air._

_It was so…_ Tiny _._

_He had never delivered a baby before—gynecology wasn't exactly his calling. And being an only child meant that he never had to deal with siblings or even nieces and nephews growing up, so it was only natural for him to want to cry out and demand why anybody would be stupid enough to entrust him with caring for a helpless infant, only… He didn't feel any trepidation. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing and felt happy to be doing it. 'It' being leaning over this tiny human that could only be two years old, at the most, and skittering his fingers over its pudgy torso, gently tickling it as it gave a toothy giggle. Its face bunched up as it kicked and screeched and squirmed as Dave proceeded to litter tiny kisses over its squishy cheeks._

_It was one of the best sounds he ever heard._

_As if the baby's laughter had thwarted him and he conceded defeat, he stopped his tickling and picked up the green teething ring by the baby's head. He need not put it in the baby's hands as the stubby little fingers snatched it from him and began gnashing on the rubbery material quite enthusiastically. He barked out a laugh that would have been unrecognizable to his ears if it hadn't been reverberating from his own chest. He smoothed down the soft brown hair that was stubbornly sticking up, just before he heard a buzz coming from his pocket._

_A phone. His phone?_

_He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the device. It looked new. And unlike the phone he had now. He had just received a text message, but his eyes were drawn to the date on the screen._

_November 9, 2020_

_That… Couldn't be right could it?_

_It didn't matter whether the date was right or not. He stood up carefully, taking a step back only to find himself knocking into something hard and firm and unyielding, yet soft and small and delicate, and somehow he knew this… thing… he was bumping into was a person before he saw the pair of arms wrapping around his torso from behind._

_He wanted to gasp. But no such sound came out of his mouth. He also wanted to yell in jubilance, feeling grateful that he wasn't alone in this strange, strange world. But he found that all he could do was chuckle as he covered the hands that rested just below his belly button with his own as he was filled enormous sense of well-being._

_He didn't even know who the pair of hands belonged to, but he felt deep down, somehow, that he knew. The way he felt was just… Indescribable, like… Like saving a life… Or a first kiss…_

_It was freeing and selfless and thrilling, and he knew there was a much simpler word for it._

_Love… And it was actualized in the matching wedding bands that wrapped around both his and the stranger's ring fingers._

_He felt his heart beat faster, confirming his suspicions. He was able to pinpoint this emotion he was feeling. The person, whoever it was that was hugging him, had his head buried against his neck and he felt a pair of lips press against his skin. A voice rang out, sounding sharp and clearer than anything he had ever heard in a dream—obviously masculine, yet more melodic than most._

_"_ _Thank you."_

_Just as curiosity was starting to get the best of him, he, too, felt thankful as he revolved on the spot slowly to face the stranger. He slipped the phone back into his pocket, not bothering to read the text or see who it was from. The arms holding him never completely left his body, and he found himself face to face with what could only be the single most breathtaking man he ever laid eyes on. He had skin like ivory and glowing pink cheeks that he could only assume was exacerbated by the brilliant smile on his face. The stormy, blue-gray eyes sparkled with an unbelievable amount of happiness and vitality; it was practically contagious as he felt himself grinning goofily like a lovesick boy in high school. He didn't know what the man was thanking him for, or maybe he did and simply didn't care, because all he could think of was how badly he wanted to capture those lips so soft and pink and perfect with his own, so… He did._

_For the first time since he arrived in this strange apartment he didn't argue with the sheer illogicality of it, didn't try to make sense of what was happening. He just gave in to his unbridled desires as he cupped the man's face and brought their lips together, kissing him with such sincerity… Like he had something to prove. Like he needed this man to know just how spectacular he was whether he knew him or not._

_"_ _I love you, Kurt."_

_Kurt? He didn't know any Kurt. Though the fact that he had never seen this man before in his life was a testament enough to that fact. But the words had slipped out before he could stop them, though he doubted he could. He didn't seem to have any control over any of his actions, but he brushed his lips against the man's once more as if to punctuate the meaning of his words. And he knew the man didn't doubt them as he pulled back and saw his eyes glittering with unshed tears of happiness. The plump lips pressed themselves in a line, fighting the growing smile on his face as if the man was trying to keep his happiness contained—as if it would be a very horrible thing for it to burst forth from his body like a dam, never to be felt again._

_Dave, too, was beginning to feel like this was a very terrifying and real possibility._

_"I love you too, David," the man… Kurt… said without an ounce of uncertainty, and Dave wrapped his arms around his lithe shoulders practically enveloping the smaller man as he nuzzled his nose into the hair at the top of his head, inhaling the intoxicating scent, and closed his eyes._

* * *

Dave moaned, gingerly sitting up from whatever hard surface he was laying on. He blearily blinked his eyes to clear them of the residual fog that was clouding his vision. He felt as though he was waking from a ridiculously prolonged nap.

In his cross-legged position on the pier, Dave rubbed his hands over his eyes as he attempted to remember how he ended up there.

 _'How long have I been out?'_ he wondered, listening to the slosh of waves below him as he rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face in the palms of his hands. He winced, his head jolting back when he felt the throbbing pain at his os frontis. Carefully, he touched his fingertips to his forehead just below the left side of his hairline before pulling his hand down to see if there was any blood.

There wasn't any, but he could feel the beginnings of a bump forming where he must have struck the metal banister.

Dave stood on wobbly legs and refrained from looking around to see whether anyone had managed to show up at the pier just in time to witness him passing out. He'd rather save himself the embarrassment of knowing. As he brushed himself off he knew it was unlikely. The pier was desolate when he arrived that morning. Everyone was either on their way to work or still sleeping. He, on the other hand, was a special case. He woke up that morning, put on his work scrubs, and decided he would go for a walk. A walk that he used to go on many mornings before falling back into his usual pit of despair. This stroll, though… He intended on it being his last one.

But plans changed, it seemed.

The thought of what he had set out to accomplish resigned itself to lurk in the back of his mind and was replaced with not as much as a will to live but a simple curiosity. While he still felt pretty morose in general… he didn't feel quite as empty as he did when he woke up that morning. This time when he rested his hands on the banister, it was to recall the vivid, angelic face that he saw in his dream… vision… whatever the hell it was that caused him to collapse on the pier.

It felt so real. Like he was acting out a scene from a play—the lines he spouted, scripted, and his movements, methodical yet natural. It couldn't be likened to a lucid dream that he could control, nor a hazy sequence that jumped from one scenario to the next. It felt more like… A memory. A memory where he could recall the emotions that seemed to flood his system faster than the morphine drip that he gave to his patients. The churning in his stomach like the current below him, powerful enough to knock him out and make his head spin. There was nothing like it. The only problem was the glaring fact—glaring  _disappointment?_ —that he had no recollection of ever accumulating this memory.

He didn't know what scared him more: The mystery of not knowing where this so-called memory came from, or knowing that such happiness was unobtainable in his own life.

Quite suddenly, Dave felt a vibration coupled with a buzz from his hip, causing him to jump in surprise. He lifted the hem of his jacket where he found his work pager still attached to the waistband of his scrub pants. Somehow, it managed to stay on despite his fall.

Dave couldn't help but let out a grumble at being interrupted while attempting to relive that kiss. Temporarily putting that thought on hold, Dave unclipped the device and stared at the message on the small analog screen, feeling as though his heart descended from his thoracic cavity and into the icy waters below.

_-CODE TRIAGE-_

Dave attempted to swallow the lump that formed in his throat. In the almost four years he had been a resident at Ronald Reagan Hospital at UCLA, they have never been issued this sort of emergency. Sure they've had code reds and code grays, but this… This was bad.

Dave pulled his phone out of his pocket to call for a lift as he began making his way back down the pier. He took no more than three steps before stopping dead in his tracks. He clutched his phone in his hand as he stared towards the horizon, his mouth agape. He felt a fiery ball of panic growing in his chest not unlike the multiple plumes of smoke that could be seen rising from the skyline of the city.

Something horrible had happened. He just wasn't entirely sure what.

* * *

It took Dave more than thirty minutes to get to the hospital, and once he arrived he was sweaty, panicked, and more confused than ever.

The cab had been a no-go, he quickly found out after he reached the street. All Uber services were _temporarily unavailable_ , whatever that meant. But it didn't matter. His patients needed him, so he didn't have any other choice. But he soon discovered the reason for this once he broke out into a brisk jog towards his place of employment.

What he saw was something out of an apocalypse movie. The streets were clogged with traffic. That in itself wasn't unusual, but many of the drivers and passengers had exited their vehicles and were standing around with looks of confusion on their faces that were bound to match his.

As he jogged down the sidewalk, he attempted to make sense of the chaos that was surrounding him. The people looked shaken if not jarred. Some even stood outside their apartments or shops to see the commotion taking place outside.

_"What the hell was that?"_

_"Dude, my fucking bumper! My dad's gonna kill me!"_

_"Did you see it too?"_

_"Can somebody tell me what the fuck just happened?"_

Dave might as well have said the last exclamation himself. He wished there was something he could do to help, but he needed to get to the hospital. Besides, the people on this block looked more perplexed than injured. Somebody else would come along to help them.

Many miles up the road and far beyond the hospital, Dave doubted the commuters were as lucky. He could see where the plumes of smoke were coming from, and he came to the conclusion that there had to be a car accident. His numerous questions remained unanswered until he was huffing through the sliding glass doors into the bustling emergency room of the hospital.

Almost immediately he felt a smack on his arm and let out a yelp.

"Jesus!"

"Where the hell have you been?"

Dave swiveled towards the accusatory voice and faced his assailant, already knowing who it was. Glowering, he rubbed his arm as he faced the busty, Hispanic woman wearing fitted lilac nurse's scrubs.

Santana Lopez placed her hands authoritatively on her hips, like she was the one in charge of Dave and not the other way around. Well, he would be in a few short months, anyway. Dave rolled his eyes as he continued to walk past her to the staff lounge.

"Something come up?" Dave asked, sounding far too blasé as he sidestepped her, weaving through a few other nurses who were talking animatedly and in hushed tones. Once he made it into the room, he unzipped his jacket and stripped it off. One of his fellow residents was asleep on the couch after finishing a long shift, he was sure.

"You're damn right, something came up," Santana snarked. Dave hoped she had abandoned him at the door—he really didn't want to divulge his reasons for being so late to work despite his nearly 12 year friendship with the woman. But no such luck. She was quick on his heels. He doubted anything would change once he completed his residency. Despite their often combative, sibling-like friendship she, for whatever reason, latched onto him during their first day of Chemistry at UCLA. He couldn't imagine her ditching him any time soon.

As Dave opened his locker to stuff the sweater inside, he saw Santana picking up the television remote off the coffee table to turn up the volume, not caring if she woke the only other occupant in the room.

"Are you even listening?" Santana asked when he slammed the locker door shut. It was obvious that he wasn't. He was lost, once again, in his thoughts about what he saw that morning, both on the streets and in his head.  _Mostly_  what he saw in his head. He finally paid her a glance and saw she had the same frenzied expression as the people on the street. She was pointing at the T.V. and he followed the length of her arm that was pointing towards the screen, which was currently on News Channel 7.

 _"…keep you up to date on the incident that occurred earlier this hour. Our producers tell us that the blackout was not limited to our people here at KABC. We are steadily being informed of the numerous reports of similar blackouts throughout the country. At first we believed the incident was localized to our news station, before receiving intel from our crew at various sites throughout the city regarding similar occurrences. Shortly after receiving this information, we were told by our sister station in D.C that…"_  The anchorwoman paused, touching a hand to the earpiece she was wearing as if listening to her producers.

Blackouts? Like rolling blackouts? Dave looked to Santana, but she shushed him before he could open his mouth, and he turned his head back to the television. He wished Santana would just come out with it.

_"Yes, we now have confirmation of blackouts in Nevada, Arizona, and…"_

"I don't understand… What the hell is happening?" Dave said as he snatched the remote from Santana's hands and muted the T.V. "Blackouts? Does this have anything to do with…?"

"Everyone getting knocked on their asses at the exact same time?" Santana cut in. "Yeah."

Dave frowned suspiciously at Santana and shook his head as if maybe he didn't hear her correctly. "I'm sorry, what? I was going to ask if this had anything to do with the code triage. What do you mean everyone…?"

"Did you or did you not pass out a while ago?"

"Did  _you_ _?"_  Dave narrowed his eyes. He felt like a very cruel practical joke had been pulled on him. But a practical joke that involved the entire city of Los Angeles…?

"Yes," Santana looked dumbstruck. "And so did everyone else in the hospital. The doctors. The nurses. Hell, even the patients. One minute we're fine and then, next thing you know, we're picking ourselves off the floor like the morning after a keggar."

Dave needed to sit down, but with the couch occupied he found himself opting to sit on the edge of the coffee table instead. He stared up at her, slouched with his elbows on his knees.

"Do you have any idea what happens when everybody just decides to take a nap in the middle of whatever they're doing without any warning?" she asked, crossing her arms. "Car accidents, Dave. Drownings. People falling in the shower. Planes falling from the  _sky_." She took a breath as she collected herself. "We… Haven't been able to get a hold of the flight paramedics. There's a good chance that…"

Santana didn't need to finish the sentence. His stomach lurched at what she was implying. He couldn't begin to make sense of what could cause something like this to happen. Santana must have read his mind because she continued.

"We're in a state of emergency," she pressed. "At first they thought it was some sort of chemical warfare. You know, it's kind of suspicious when everyone in the White House passes out for no reason, but the more information the news people got, the more they realized they weren't the only ones it happened to."

"So you're saying the whole United States just passed out at the same time?"

Santana shook her head.

"Not just the United States," she paused, taking a breath as if she could barely believe it herself. "It happened everywhere, Dave. In the  _world."_

Dave wished he had enough time to dwell on this information, but his pager started to buzz again causing his to jump up from his makeshift seat. The red signs above the doors began to flash as a pleasant voice rang out over the speakers-a voice too pleasant considering the circumstances.

 _"_   _Trauma team activation, room 3… Trauma team activation, room 3…"_

"Come on," he said. It was time to get to work. Santana followed him out of the room dutifully, making their way to the trauma bay.

"Have you seen Dr. Matthews?" Dave asked Santana as they weaved through the bustling hall. She gave him a worried look when he glanced over his shoulder at her.

"Her shift starts the same time as ours. Haven't seen her yet, though."

"Fuck," Dave cursed under his breath as he walked down the sterile, white hall lined with spare hospital beds.

Dr. Matthews was the doctor who supervised him during surgery. However, being a fourth year resident meant if they didn't have an emergency room physician or surgeon available, he was the designated team leader during their primary survey of the patient.

"What about Dr. Rosenberg?" he asked. Dr. Rosenberg was one of the neurosurgeons who usually came into work the same time as Dave.

"Dr. Rosenberg is in surgery right now, Dr. Karofsky." It wasn't Santana who answered Dave, but Pam, their stout, seasoned, and motherly charge nurse. Rather than stopping at the triage desk where she sat, Dave continued to the wash room down the next hall. She joined the two of them, clutching a clipboard.

"Dr. Matthews  _and_  Dr. Leigh are on their way, and the trauma team is coming down from upstairs." Pam explained as her short legs struggled to keep up. "We have an autolaunch inbound. Male. 22 years old. Extricated from the back of a vehicle that collided with a building on Wilshire Boulevard. The driver was found dead at the scene."

"Was the patient restrained?" Dave asked as he and Santana entered a room only slightly larger than a bathroom. It contained long, metal sinks and surgery garb. Pam stood outside the door, propping it open with her hip as her eyes scanned the clipboard. She shook her head sadly.

"No, but EMTs will give you the rest of the info," Pam said as Dave and Santana scrubbed their hands thoroughly with soap and hot water. She was about to shut the door to return to the triage desk as more technicians entered the room. They all assisted each other with tying their gowns and putting on their gloves. Once they were standing outside the door, Santana handed out the bright pink stickers they had to wear in order to designate their role in the trauma bay. Santana kept the usual "RN Scribe" sticker for herself and handed Dave the "Team Leader" sticker. He gave her a look with pursed lips as she slapped it on him.

"You'll be fine," she said, and he wished he believed her. He had only been the team leader a handful of other times, but only when Dr. Matthews was in the room to prompt him if he had trouble recalling the procedure or to take over for him if he needed her to.

He couldn't help but reminisce on his early days as a first and second year resident when all he had to worry about was cutting the patients clothes off, extracting blood from the femoral artery, and analyzing it.

"Just don't over think it."

Dave nodded along, taking in a deep breath.

"Oh, and Dave?" Santana asked.

Dave looked up.

"Don't fuck it up."

"Gee, thanks," Dave countered. Sometimes a sense of humor was the only thing that kept them sane during the day. That and helping their patients.

Almost as if on cue, two of their EMTs were coming through the glass doors at the end of the hall pushing a stretcher. Dave secured his mask and pulled down his visor.

"Okay, guys," Dave said steeling himself as he followed his team into the room. "Here we go."

_'I can do this.'_

As the gurney was rolled into the room, Dave gave a curt nod to the two men. Like Santana, he had known the pair for many years having worked at the same hospital, but now wasn't the time for friendly greetings. He stared at the unmoving form on the stretcher as Hudson and Puckerman helped the technicians transfer the patient onto the hospital bed.

"What do we got?" Dave asked Finn Hudson and Noah Puckerman. Though he had already got the gist of the information from Pam about the patient's status, it was important to hear the whole story from the paramedics.

"22 year old male. Car accident. He was in the backseat when we found him. Unconcious, unresponsive, and unrestrained. A GCS of 8. Luckily all the damage was to the front of the vehicle. Obvious head injury and fracture to the left femur, though. And a few superficial cuts to the face. Most likely from the broken glass. Guy is lucky to be alive," Puck said quickly as Dave nodded along, listening to the information that was being relayed to him. He could see Santana in his periphery, her pen flying over the clipboard as she copied everything down. The masked respiratory specialist took over squeezing the AMBU-bag.

"What made you decide not to intubate?" Dave asked, concerned. Too many clinicians have contributed to patient morality for waiting too long to intubate.

"He seized twice on the way over here, but that's not all." Usually seizing was a good enough reason to intubate, but Dave allowed Puck to explain. "He was being slightly combative."

"Combative? With a Glasgow Coma Scale of 8?" It didn't make any sense.

"More like… Violent talking in his sleep." Finn cut in. Puck nodded in agreement.

"He wouldn't open his eyes, but he kept thrashing and saying one name over and over again."

"What name?" Dave asked, intrigued but also concerned.

"David, actually," Finn said. Dave frowned. "It's a common name. Must be a family member, or boyfriend maybe."

"David… Right…" Dave repeated. It was strange. He couldn't make out much of the patient other than the marble-like skin of his hands and face, mussed, shiny brown hair, and his extremely elaborate ensemble. He looked like he could have been a model considering the way he dressed.

"We're going to want to intubate him, what with the chance of facial swelling," Dave told his team before turning back to the EMTs.

"Thanks, we'll take it from here," Dave told Finn and Puck. Sure, the guy was lucky to be alive, but the possibility of a brain injury meant oxygen deprivation from swelling or brain bleeds.

"Oh wait," Dave called out, just as the EMTs were heading out the door. They turned around, standing in the threshold. "Could you figure out the name? Of our patient."

"Yeah," Puck said, looking at his notes. "Kurt… Kurt Hummel."


	2. Waking Up

_"The name's Kurt… Kurt Hummel."_

_"Kurt?" Dave repeated the name with an upward inflection. He had never met a Kurt in his life. So why did the name roll so easily off his tongue._

_"Yeah, that's what his school ID says," Finn frowned and Dave cocked his head, attempting to get a good look at this Kurt despite the AMBU-bag, neck brace, and the numerous arms reaching across him and going every which way attempting to remove his clothing and get the IVs in._

_Though the face was slack and unmoving, there was a pleasant pinkness to the cheeks. Dark eyelashes fanned out upon his porcelain skin, marked by a few cuts and scratches here and there. He could almost imagine what those eyes would look like when they were open. A blue-gray, like the ocean shrouded by clouds on a stormy day…_

_His stomach lurched._

_'No…'_

_"Everything alright, Doctor?"_

_"Yeah," Dave nodded rapidly as he forced himself to look away from the slack face. "Thank you."_

_Dave turned back to his team. Every breath he took felt forced and painful. Despite the stressful circumstances he often faced as an emergency room resident, it was rare that he felt stressed on the job. He had a goal in mind with every patient, critical condition or not. He was able to channel the stress into making sure his patients received the best care._

_Today was the one exception._

_Dave stared at the man's battered body, in a state of silent horror that left him incapable of thinking of what steps he should take… What was he supposed to do?_

_ABCDE… Dave closed his eyes and chanted to himself. As he forced himself to take deep breaths. Airway… Breathing… Circulation… Disability… Exposure… Airway… Breathing… Circulation…_

_He opened his eyes, staring at Kurt's closed ones._

_He could do this._

* * *

Kurt Hummel.

The name had been all that Dave could think about the past week, besides to whom the name belonged. One week since he knew his life had been changed invariably. One week since he was shook to his very core. One week that he spent convincing himself—or at least  _attempting_  to convince himself—that this whole blackout thing was just some strange coincidence.

Only it  _wasn't._

It  _couldn't_ be.

Work was beginning to grow wearisome and life itself even more so. Everywhere he went people were talking about the events that transpired on that fateful day of February 22, 2016—the patients that he passed by in the waiting room, the nurses at the triage desk, and the doctors in the lounge. And not to mention almost every television in the hospital was constantly showing the news, which seemed to give updates every hour on the leads of what was now being referred to as the Worldwide Blackout of 2016. There was just no way of getting away from it.

As it turned out, Dave wasn't the only person who had experienced realistic visions while he was unconscious. The halls of the hospital were filled with mindless chit-chat over what people had seen. He was doing everything in his power to not think about it in the fear of driving himself to the brink of insanity. Everybody seemed so excited about it for some reason. Dave couldn't delude himself to imagine anything good about what he saw and was thankful that no one had asked him about his experience. Every now and then, Santana would give him strange looks in passing, but her questions remained unspoken. He didn't know how he would begin to explain experiencing a vision about a person that he hadn't even met yet—not that that little issue hadn't remedied itself.

* * *

_"We need to see if he can come to," Dave said to his team. They had already examined his body and could confirm the broken femur. His abdominal cavity seemed fine. No internal bleeding. There was just the simple and strange matter that he would not wake._

_"Kurt," Dave said, loudly over the beeping monitors. "Kurt can you hear me?"_

_Nothing. Not a sound came from the man, not even a blink._

_"Kurt, if you can hear me I need you to open your eyes for me." Dave squeezed the uninjured leg. Still, the man offered no response._

_"Kurt, my name is Doctor David Karofsky and…" Dave paused upon seeing the man's eyes twitching beneath the eyelids. Of course he would react to that name. His name. David…_

_Fuck._

_"Kurt," Dave said softly as he moved to the head of the bed to see his patient better. Dave was glad he was wearing his mask. He was well aware of the rest of his team staring at him as he somehow managed to receive a response in the form of dazed eyes fluttering open and staring at him._

_"You're in the hospital, Kurt. You were involved in a really bad accident. But we're going to take care of you okay."_

_The man, immobilized, could only blink gratefully at him. It was obvious he was scared, but his eyes were filled with trust. Dave squeezed his hand._

_He was going to be okay._

* * *

Dave ran a hand over his mouth, glancing up and down the brightly lit hall as he stood outside Recovery Room 2003. He had been pacing that nearly empty hall for the last half hour. Every lap or two, he would stop briefly to glance through the doorway, his eyes landing on a sleeping figure. Finally, it became too much and he took a step into the dimly lit room.

This was so fucked up.

Much like every other room in the hospital, the television attached to the wall was on and the logo for News Channel 7 was displayed in the bottom right corner of the screen, only now the usual brunette who reported during the morning and afternoon was replaced with a handsome, bespectacled man in his late 40s. The television was quiet enough to not wake the sleeping occupant, but loud enough that Dave could make out what was being said if he wanted to.

He really didn't.

All Dave cared about was the figure propped up in the hospital bed. He was still except for the slow and steady rise and fall of his chest. The moonlight danced upon his exceptionally pale skin from the window blinds that rustled and swayed. There were a minimal amount of tubes attached to him now, except for the IV with the small dosage of morphine to help with the postoperative pain.

Tentatively, Dave stepped towards the bed feeling a mixture of trepidation and nausea. He could hear the rush of blood in his ears—his heartbeat was almost echoing in the room. He didn't want to wake him up. He didn't know  _what_  he wanted—except, maybe for some amount of clarity to wash over him, or a glaring sign that this wasn't the man he was dreaming about. The man who bore the name that had haunted not just his dreams, but his every waking moment since _the_  dream.

_"I love you, Kurt."_

_"I love you too, David."_

He had been told by Finn that the man had been mumbling that name, _his_  name, in his sleep. Dave shook his head as he scrutinized the form with a frown. He hated himself for the admission, but there was no doubting it at this point. From the sharp upturn of his nose to his defined jaw line. This was the same person who wrapped those arms around him and kissed him with those lips.

There was one thing different about him though—a difference that they had in common, actually.

Dave treaded carefully, making a semi-ellipse to the other side of the bed. He had to stop himself when his hand came centimeters away from tracing the spot where the silver ring used to be (should be?  _would_  be?) on the hand that laid limply on the white linen. Somehow, despite only ever wearing a high school class ring on his right hand many years ago, the left felt inexplicably naked without having a certain accessory on his ring finger.

Dave let out a shuddering sigh and closed his eyes as he dropped down in the chair, causing the legs to scrape slightly.

He heard a rustle. And then a yawn.

"Morning," said a woozy, though oddly cheery voice. Dave looked up sharply, nearly cricking his neck. The man, Kurt, turned his head towards him, being careful not to put too much pressure on the back of his head where his stitches were. He yawned again, and smiled at the same time, reminding Dave of a cat waking up from its nap. The smile stayed on his face even as he blinked the sleep out of his eyes.

Dave had a hard time not returning the gentle smile. He wasn't sure if maybe the man was naturally radiant or if it was the painkillers, but unless this man was a frequent user of opioids, he had the exact same smile in Dave's dream as he did in the hospital bed, only his hair was adorably sticking up in every direction and…

_Fuck._

He really shouldn't have come in here.

"Or I guess I should say good evening," Kurt amended, glancing past him through the window behind him at the darkened sky. Dave figured this was his chance and stood up while Kurt was distracted. He hoped he could leave the room and that his patient (he was his  _patient_ ) would be overtaken by the pain meds once more and would eventually forget this impromptu vigil.

"Doctor?"

"I'm sorry," Dave quickly replied, turning around.

Dammit. He was just a few steps away from the door.

"I… I was checking up on you and was… feeling a little lightheaded and needed to sit down. I'm sorry for disturbing you, Mr. Hummel. I'll let you go back to sleep." Dave turned around and was practically framed by the threshold when…

"Long day?"

Dave pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing.

_So close._

"Long week, is more like it," he murmured. It had been a busy week. They had at least three times the usual number of patients than any other time of the year. The thought of Kurt's condition weighed heavily on his mind, but he knew he was in good hands with their neurosurgeon and orthopedic surgeon.

He didn't mean for Kurt to hear him, but the recovery room floor was quieter than the chaotic and loud emergency room that he was used to, and his voice naturally carried behind him. Kurt offered a soft chuckle in response. He turned his head toward the sound.

"Try spending it in a crappy hospital bed with a hole in your skull and an unnecessary number of tubes poking out of you."

Dave snorted. He could get used to this man's sense of humor. Not that he would be  _needing_  time to get used to  _anything._  The man was going home tomorrow, and he would go on with the rest of his life like any normal person would. They both would.

"I assure you that all those tubes are necessary. And I didn't realize it was a competition," Dave cocked his head, taking the bait. "But you do have a point there."

"Never thought a car accident could be this exhausting," Kurt said, leaning his head back into the pillow.

Dave felt a twinge of sympathy.

"Well, your body's trying to recover from the ordeal," he explained patiently. "It takes time, but you should be feeling well enough to go home by tomorrow."

"Really," Kurt asked, sounding shocked. "Already? Even with my leg? And my head?"

"Yes. Dr. Matthews will be assigning you a treatment plan including a referral to a physical therapist. You don't want to be stagnant for too long or there is a chance you could develop a blood clot in your leg. As for your head, you'd be surprised by how fast the human skull heals."

"Lovely," Kurt said. Dave almost thought he could detect a note of disappointment in his voice. And then he changed the subject.

"So, you're not my doctor," Kurt voiced slowly, raising an eyebrow.

"Ugh, no, not quite," Dave stammered feeling rather uncomfortable and warm around his collar despite how his scrub top was a v-neck.

"But, I remember you. You were there that day… After the accident." Kurt's brows stitched together as if wondering whether Dave had the qualifications to attend to him in the trauma room. All Dave could wonder was how Kurt managed to remember the day he arrived in the hospital when he was in so much pain and barely conscious.

"I'm a resident. Now if that is all, Mr. Hummel."

"Kurt."

"Kurt," Dave corrected himself. He licked his lips and sways on his feet, feeling anxious to finally leave. "I should be going."

"Dav—Dr. Karofsky, right?"

"Yes?" Dave narrowed his eyes.

"That day… From what I was told… Everybody blacked out. That's how I ended up here."

Though it wasn't a question, Dave chose to respond, crossing his arms in front of himself.

"That's what could be gathered from the scene of the accident, yes," he said tentatively. He could tell by look on Kurt's face that he knew that the driver hadn't made it out alive.

Kurt nodded slowly, understandingly, and Dave could see the bob of his adam's apple as he swallowed thickly. He turned his head towards the television, looking away from Dave.

"They said on the news that everyone blacked out for a minute and seven seconds. That's weird, isn't it?" Dave couldn't move when Kurt turned back to him, his eyes boring into his.

What was he supposed to say to that?

"Mr. Hummel, I'm really not in a position to discuss—"

"Did you see anything that day?" Kurt conjectured, his voice sounding almost pained. Dave didn't know a person's face could be that expressive. He looked scared and fascinated and hopeful all at once. "They said on the news that people had visions, something about Novem-"

Dave recalled the dream, and the text, and the date, so vividly displayed on his phone's screen.

_November 9, 2020_

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dave cut him off, his voice quiet.

He couldn't know, Dave told himself. There was no way that Kurt could know anything about what he saw that day. He was just becoming stir-crazy from his long week in the hospital, and he knew he should have just gone home as soon as his shift ended.

Kurt gaped and his face, shrouded in shadow, accentuated his dejection. His shoulders slumped and Dave had to look away from the pain in his eyes.

"You…"

"I didn't see anything in… whatever you're referring to." Dave clenched his jaw, as if it would help to squelch the guilt he was feeling.

"Oh… That's funny," Kurt let out a chuckle that sounded far from amused and folded his hands in his laps, staring at them.

"I just thought that maybe…" he sighed quietly, giving a one shoulder shrug.

"Never mind. My dad didn't see anything either so…" Kurt shook his head, looking upset. "Forget it. I'm sorry to have kept you from your work, Dr. Karofsky. You're probably busy.

Dave had half a mind to respond with a no, I was actually about to go home, but Kurt looked away.

"I'm sorry…" Dave said, trying not to sound too beaten up at the lie he told. He couldn't help but wonder about these people who didn't see anything in their dream-the people who saw a presumably overwhelming darkness instead of children and handsome husbands and frightening domesticity like Dave  _actually_  did.

God, he was a fucking monster. Just outright lying to him like that.  _Fuck._  He didn't have any other choice though…  _Did_  he?

But, God, he just looked so young and hopeful. He had his whole future ahead of him. Why would someone like Kurt even want to see themselves with someone like him?

"I wish I could have been of more help." He turned back to the door, and, in an afterthought, turned back around and added softly, "Good night… Kurt."

Kurt offered him no response. His eyes were closed and his face was as impassive as stone.

Kurt was fine. Or at least he was  _going_  to be fine, Dave told himself. Kurt would forget about this stupid dream—about the resident that helped save him. He would go on to live a long full life.

That's all that mattered.


	3. Starting Over

"Okay, okay, okay," Kurt shouted over the thumping music. He held up his virgin cucumber mojito to the two ladies standing with him at the bar. The smile that stretched across his face was almost painful. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this happy, except maybe when his Glee Club finally won Nationals during his senior year of high school. Man, how the time had flown by.

"I would like to make a toast," he said in a simpering fashion, milking the moment the best that he could. The girls gave each other a knowing look as they held their respectable drinks with mock impatience. "To the two best girlfriends a man could ask for. I know that it couldn't have been easy to come here on such short notice just to surprise me at my graduation and to grace me with your wonderful presence, which makes me all the more grateful that this trip is permanent. So I would just like to officially welcome you both to the city of sunburns. It might not be New York chic, but I, for one, look forward to making up for the time lost these past two years."

When Kurt finished his toast he realized that his eyes were watering and he had to purse his lips to keep from getting emotional. He meant every word of what he said. Mercedes Jones and Rachel Berry had become his closest friends in high school. Even though he knew they were there on their own devices, it still made him happy that he would be able to see them every week for who knows how long.

The girls let out a mocking, though still appreciative, _awww._  Kurt bowed his head in laughter before chinking his glass with theirs.

"Is that going to be it with the sappy talk? I thought we were here to have some fun?" Mercedes asked as she sipped her drink. "If I wanted to be all melancholic I would have stayed home with a bottle of wine, ice cream, and an Adele CD."

"I agree completely," Rachel said primly. "We've graduated, you guys. We have our whole life ahead of us. The lovely Mercedes Jones, future Grammy Award Winner," she gestured to Mercedes who grinned as she stirred her martini with the olive on her toothpick. She gestured to Kurt, "the fabulous Kurt Hummel, future magazine editor slash fashion designer." Kurt smiled thoughtfully, liking that title very much. "And I, the incomparable Rachel Barbra Berry, television star," she ended with a flourish.

"Whoa, not so fast, sweetie," Kurt said kindly, as they moved to find a table at the back of the room that wasn't completely swamped with people. "You haven't even filmed the pilot yet."

"I told you both months ago on Skype about my dream, Kurt," she said, and Kurt rolled his eyes. Three months later and people were still talking about the Blackout.

"I saw myself in a trailer, and I was getting my make-up done by a professional make-up artist, and I was reading about my successes, and supposed nose job rumors, in  _People Magazine._ "

"We believe you, Rachel," Mercedes said, patting her hand after they sat down at a semi-circle booth, "but it's not like there's any way to prove that what we saw was actually going to happen."

Rachel paused for a moment, before giving Kurt a sidelong glance.

"Well…"

"Oh, no," Kurt said, shaking his head. "Not this again."

"Kurt, you  _must_  think it's strange how the first person you saw when you woke up after the accident was the same person who you saw in your dream?"

"I already told you guys," Kurt said with an exasperated sigh. "There's no way it could have been him. He told me that he didn't see anything when he passed out and the one thing that all the dreams had in common were a particular day. If he was the person I saw in my dream, then he would have seen me in his dream too… Right?"

"There's an obvious answer to your question, Kurt," Rachel said. Her smile was sickly sweet.

"There is?" Kurt asked, feeling a bit dumb.

"Absolutely," Mercedes exclaimed. "He was lying!"

Kurt rolled his eyes for the second time.

"He wasn't lying. He just… Couldn't have been the right person." He wanted to believe the words coming out of his mouth, if only to save himself the trouble, but those mossy-green eyes were unmistakable.

"Honestly, Kurt. You were so positive that it was him that you would ask him about it, right?" Mercedes pointed out. "But what could he have done about it? He was your  _doctor_. They abide by the Hippocratic Oath. What did you expect him to do? Kiss you on the stretcher like Sleeping Beauty?"

Kurt sputtered, choking on his drink.

"Gross, no…" Kurt said. "I just… Thought we could talk. My dad had gone back to the hotel for the night, and I woke up after dozing off and just… I would have enjoyed the company. But never had I seen anybody want to get away from me so fast."

"Exactly," Rachel remarked passionately. "He had to get away because he couldn't bear having to see you in your current state."

"Or better yet, he was so moved and affected by the dream it pained him that he was unable to do anything," Mercedes added.

Kurt rubbed his temples, feeling mad at himself for divulging any details about the dream to his friends in the first place.

"Do what?" Kurt scoffed, slapping his hands on the table in frustration. He was starting to wish he never gave up drinking. "It's not like we were magically in love. I mean, he might be my type, but…"

"What? Like Blaine?" Mercedes laughed. Kurt blushed.

"No! Like… He could have been a jock in school." He shrugged innocently. "But instead of shoulder pads he wore scrubs."

"Mmm… Brains  _and_  brawn…? Dreamy," Mercedes teased.

"He really was," Kurt said honestly with a small sigh, not taking the bait. "Now if you will excuse me, I need to visit the restroom." He slid out of the booth and smoothed down his pristinely white Maison Martin Margiela shirt, making himself look respectable in case he ran into any attractive guys on the way to the restroom.

"This conversation isn't over," Rachel called out behind him and he waved her off.

He began to inch his way through the people who had made use of what little floor space there was in the small bar by dancing and mingling. A Lorde song payed on the speakers and he couldn't help bob his head to the catchy tune he never heard before. He barely took five steps away from his friends when he stopped, staring past the clump of patrons at the bar and at a group of people that caught his eye who seemed to be celebrating in a way none to different than he and his two friends. Only there were three rather attractive men and one gorgeous, scantily clad woman in a red strapless dress that looked like it could be a second skin. But one particular person stood out from the rest of the group. Because he knew that face, considering he had woken up to it on two occasions.

Kurt's eyes widened and his mouth went very dry. He didn't think it had anything to do with the tart virgin mojito he had been drinking.

"Oh god…" Kurt murmured, unsure of why he was panicking. Even though none other than Doctor David Karofsky was standing at the bar twenty feet away from him, seemingly sharing drinks with his friends (coworkers?), he hadn't seen him. Kurt ducked his head slightly and he turned back around, making his way back to the table.

Mercedes noticed his return first and gave him a questioning, if not slightly appalled look. Rachel whipped her head around.

"Should we be worried you didn't make it to the restroom?" Mercedes said, her eyes drifting suspiciously down towards his pants. Kurt ignored her and sat back down.

"He's here," Kurt hissed, as if Karofsky could hear him all the way from the bar.

"Who's here?" Rachel asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

" _He_ 's here," Kurt enunciated, widening his eyes as he jerked his head in the direction of the bar.

"Oh!" Rachel gasped, withdrawing her hand to cover her mouth excitedly. Mercedes set her glass down a little too hard and it sloshed on the shiny wood surface.

"Which one is it?" Rachel asked, attempting to stand up to get a better look, which was difficult considering they were in the round booth in the corner.

"Sit down," Kurt screeched as he put his hand on her shoulder to pull her back down. "God, okay…" he said, telling himself to breathe and, more importantly, not make a complete fool of himself."Tell me what I should do?"

"You're asking us for advice?" Mercedes said, deadpanned.

"Yes."

"Well, what do you want to do?" Rachel asked seriously. "Do you want to talk to him?"

"I… I don't know," Kurt said anxiously. "What if he doesn't remember me? It's been three months. For all I know he could be with one of those guys. What if he laughs at me?"

"Okay one… Mohawk and Frankenteen can't keep their eyes off of Red Dress's breasts. And two… Why would he laugh at you?" Mercedes said, laughing herself. "Have you  _seen_  you?"

"As much as I appreciate the ego stroking. I just…" Kurt exhaled. "Yeah. I would love to talk to him, honestly. Maybe he'd be different now. Since I'm not his patient anymore, you know."

"Well, then go for it," Mercedes said, as Kurt fixed his hair the best he could without a mirror, his eyes darting nervously in the direction of the bar.

"I can't just go up to him, can I? Wouldn't that look a little desperate?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Then just pretend to be ordering a drink and then just wait for him to see you."

"Maybe…" Kurt nibbled his lip. That had to be the best option. "Yeah, okay. I'm going to go." He let out a shuddering breath. "Do I really look okay? This isn't too much is it?" He tugged fretfully on the black and white skull neckerchief.

" _No_ ," Rachel pressed, practically pushing him out of the booth. "Stop worrying so much."

"And you're not going to accuse me of abandoning you, are you?"

"Christ almighty, Kurt, no," Mercedes laughed. "Now go get your hot doctor before I do, damn."

"Alright, come on boys settle down," Santana said holding her beer in one hand and pinching Puck's pec with the other to shut him up when he began to mimic her, which only made Finn laugh louder. "Auntie 'Tana has something to say."

"When do you not?" Puck said, rubbing his chest, wincing in pain. Dave snorted and Santana rolled her eyes.

"You know I'm not one for maudlin speeches, so I will make this short and sweet. Dave," she turned to him, blinking at him with her mascara covered eyelashes, "if you are anywhere near as good a doctor as you are a friend… Then any hospital would be lucky to have you. And I want you to know that whatever direction you choose to go now that you've finished your residency, you will always have a home with us at Reagan. And if you do decide to stay at Reagan, I am warning you right now if you so much as boss me around I will not hesitate to beat your ass when we're not at work."

"What I think San is trying to say is "congratulations", Dave."

Dave laughed, as Finn clapped him on the back, Puck held his beer up to him in salute, and Santana hugged him around his middle.

"Yeah, I figured as much. Thanks you guys. It really means a lot," he said gratefully. "I still don't know what my plans are at this point, but I don't want to jump into signing a contract with Reagan too soon. I need to explore my options first."

Dave took a pensive sip of his Corona. It was hard to believe how just 3 months earlier he had every intention on ending his life and now here he was, a doctor without any set plans, but a doctor nonetheless. He still had his bad days. More bad days than good, actually. Days where he had trouble dragging himself out of bed. Days where the ache in his chest felt a little too unbearable and unexplainable. It sucked. But it was days like this, with his friends, that made him think that he could get through this. There were some things in life that were worth getting up in the morning for. It was these moments that he clung onto in order to remind himself that some things in life were worth living for. Moments better than the sadness he couldn't begin to describe.

As he looked out towards the patrons on the makeshift dance floor, a figure caught his eye as well as his breath. He had been about to take a sip of his drink when he paused setting it down on the bar behind Santana in a daze. His three friends gave him a questioning look.

"Dude, where…?" Finn started to say before Dave cut him off.

"Watch my drink for a second," he said to no one in particular as he bee-lined towards the man. He couldn't be bothered that he was in the middle of a conversation-though he had to say, the man—Kurt—hardly seemed interested and looked as though he was merely nodding along politely at his companion.

It felt so foreign to be seeing Kurt like this. It was like he was out of his element, though clearly that he was the one out of his element. Kurt Hummel stood in the middle of the bar wearing, not the hospital gown that he had been accustomed to seeing him in, but the brightest red pants he'd ever seen, crispest, white, form-fitting button up, and black and white neckerchief. He stood taller than he expected him to be, considering he had only seen him in the hospital bed, and he gave no impression of ever being in an accident. He was healthy and happy.

And that was enough to make Dave glad he had gotten up that morning and enough to make him stop and think for just one moment before he could cut into the conversation.

Who was he to ruin that?

* * *

Kurt took a calming breath as he weaved in and out of the people. He could see him better now, from here, but Kurt knew the man hadn't seen him. He seemed to be smiling at whatever joke one of his companions made, as they were all laughing uproariously-except him. Though he was smiling into his drink, he seemed dead behind the eyes and the kind of tired that didn't go away by going to sleep an hour earlier. Maybe this hadn't been the best idea.

"Hey."

Kurt stood in front of the bar when he felt a hand on his arm and he turned around. He was surprised to find a tall, svelte man in his mid twenties smiling at him. His hair was jet black, straight, and combed neatly. He wore a fitted, long sleeve Henley that showed off his pecs and Kurt found his eyes roaming his body in surprise. Surely this man had him confused with someone else.

"Hi?" Kurt asked, trying not to sound impatient. What if Karofsky left by the time he was done talking to him. The man gave him a smile.

"Sorry, I had to ask or else I'd regret it the whole night: Do you come here often?" The man closed his eyes, cringing. "Wow, that really sounded like a pick up line. I didn't mean for it to come out that way. You just look really familiar." Kurt had to admit… The man was pretty adorable.

"No, actually this is the first time I've been here. You don't go to UCLA do you?" Kurt asked politely.

"I graduated last year, actually-wait. You didn't have Psych 101 with Westin did you?"

"That would be it." Kurt gave him a tight smile. He wished the guy would get a move on—ask him out, something…

"Yeah, you were the cute guy that sat in front of me in the lecture hall." Kurt blushed.

"Oh, that's… Very nice of you to say."

"Do you think I could buy you a drink, or maybe you'd want to dance for a bit?" Kurt gaped, and actually couldn't help but feel a little appalled at his own lack of interest.

"That sounds lovely, only… I'm sorry I was actually…" Kurt broke off, sensing movement in his periphery. He had to do act double take, but there was no mistaking the back of the man he was seeking out. It looked as though he had been walking his way when he did a complete one-eighty.

He hadn't been on his way to talk to him… Had he?

"David," Kurt blurted out, nearly startling his unnamed companion. His eyes went wide at his own outburst and was even more shocked to see Dave turning around.

* * *

"Kurt…"

Fuck. Kurt had seen him. He didn't put much thought into what he was going to say to him in the first place, but since he decided to abort approaching Kurt, he was at a complete loss for words. He gulped. "Hi, I was just…"

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry," Dave turned his head to the man who Kurt seemed to have completely forgotten existed. Kurt, for whatever reason, wouldn't stop staring at him since he spotted him.

"Listen, dude, I didn't know he was your boyfriend."

"What?"

"Huh?" Kurt seemed to have come to his senses and he shook his head. "No, he's just…"

"You guys take care, alright?" The man waved to the both of them, and gave Dave an apologetic smile.

"Oh, well… Okay then…" Kurt said blankly and let out a sigh when the man disappeared through the crowd of people to rejoin his friends at the other end of the bar.

Dave genuinely felt awful.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Kurt," he shoved his hands into his pockets, embarrassed. Kurt cocked his head to the side and gave Dave an amused smile.

"What for?"

"Well for… Practically scaring that guy away." Wasn't Kurt mad at him? He practically cockblocked him, after all.

Kurt shrugged and smiled.

"He was nice enough, but… Not really my type," Kurt said simply.

Dave scoffed.

"Attractive isn't your type?"

Kurt narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "I'd say beauty is subjective. That being said, should I go get his number for you?"

Dave chuckled. "No, I'll pass. After all I came over to talk to you."

"Oh?" Kurt raised his eyebrows. His eyes were glassy and Dave couldn't tell if i was because he was pleasantly surprised or if he already had a few drinks. It was then that Dave realized they were standing awkwardly by the couples dancing to the steady bass and the female singer's husky voice on the sound system and the bar. He motioned with his head towards the counter.

"Yeah, you look great. I mean…" he closed his eyes shook his head embarrassed. "You healed up great."

"Yeah? Well, only because I had some pretty great doctors." Kurt's eyes… Dave thought only Disney characters' eyes could sparkle like that.

"Could I get you a drink?" Dave asked shyly. He hoped he was coming across as polite rather than trying to ply Kurt with liquor. Kurt looked suddenly embarrassed by the offer.

"No, thanks. I'm all set," Kurt said grimacing, and before Dave could question him, he added, "You know, you're far more pleasant outside of work. Has anybody ever told you that?"

Dave recoiled at Kurt's bluntness, but Kurt's playful smile told him he was merely toying with him.

"Well, I don't make a habit of running into my patients outside of work."

Kurt licked his lips.

"Habit would be indicative of more than one run-in with each other… Unless, that is, you're planning on making us run into each other a habit?" He took a step closer to Dave.

"Kurt…" he said warningly, and Kurt instantly looked hurt.

"I'm sorry," he said, retreating both physically and emotionally. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"There's nothing _wrong_  with what you're thinking," Dave said. The words were agonizing to get out. "But you need to know what I'm thinking, and that's I take my job seriously. I don't get involved with my patients."

"Right," Kurt nodded sadly before adding, "Can I ask you something, though?"

"Sure."

"If this had been the first time we ever saw each, and we had just met at the bar, right now… Would I have had a chance?"

"Kurt…" Such a ridiculous question, with such an obvious answer.

"Listen. I'm not some almost dead guy who came to you on a stretcher, okay. My name is Kurt Hummel. I just graduated from UCLA. I'm not a doctor, in fact I might have managed to get a C in high school chemistry. I've only ever been in a relationship with one person and it did not end well. I like fashion and work for a fashion magazine. I love singing and performing and almost pursued a career in it. What about you?" Kurt stared at Dave his chin sticking out adamantly. A small smile formed on Dave's face.

"My name…" he sighed, giving in. "Is David. Though most people call me Dave. I haven't the slightest interest in fashion. No offense. I didn't come out of the closet until my senior year of high school. I love hockey and cold weather, so I have no idea what the fuck I am doing living in California, of all places. I never learned how to swim, I love Thai food, and hate coffee."

Kurt was practically beaming when Dave finished his spiel. He looked proud—of who, Dave wasn't sure.

"It's nice to meet you, Dave." Kurt stuck out his hand and Dave stared down at it before taking it in his own. He smiled.

"It's nice to meet you too, Kurt."

* * *

Dave didn't know why he was so nervous. He brought his fair share of guys back to his apartment a number of times, but this was different. And he knew it as his hands trembled slightly as he unlocked the door.

Dave and Kurt left the bar at around 11 o'clock. Santana had text him before they left saying she got a cab and went home because she had to go to work early the next day. Finn and Puck seemed to be enjoying themselves talking to who Kurt pointed out to be his two girlfriends, oddly enough.

The walk back to his apartment had been pleasant. The only thing he and Kurt seemed to have in common was that they attended the same college. Kurt, he found out, was going to school at NYU when he transferred. He didn't ask why he decided to transfer, but was impressed that he was still able to graduate in his four years. He also found out how Kurt's mom had passed away from cancer when he was a young boy, and how his dad was immediately accepting when he found out he was gay. He somehow managed to divulge to Kurt how he was actually outed in high school against his will, and how he hadn't talked to his mom since he left for college almost 13 years ago, and his parents shortly divorcing after he left. He was still on good terms with his dad, and how he, much like Kurt's dad, was accepting of his sexuality right off the bat. Kurt had been sympathetic. Gently touching his arm as they walked down the street from the bar to his apartment close by.

They had been depressing topics to bring up on a first, real encounter, but Dave couldn't begin to explain the connection he felt with Kurt. It was like he had known him his whole life. Or had been waiting for someone like him his whole life.

It was daunting.

The one topic that never came up was the one he knew was on both of their minds.

The dream.

How was he supposed to tell Kurt that he lied that night in the hospital when he said he didn't dream about anything. He could tell how much he had hurt Kurt with that news and he didn't know why he couldn't just come out and tell Kurt what he wanted to hear. But he just couldn't. Up until he left for college, his whole life had practically been built upon what other people wanted from him, how could he let a silly little dream shape his present _and_  his future?

"Here we are," Dave said, pushing the door open to the apartment to let Kurt inside. It was dark, but Kurt didn't seem to have any qualms about going in first.

Dave shut the door behind him and felt the wall for the light switch, but before he could flick it on he felt a pair of hands gliding up his chest and warm lips pressed against his own. He let out a muffled moan, and closed his eyes despite being completely surrounded in blackness. He was being backed into the door. Instinctively, his hands slid around the man's lithe waist, pulling him closer. He could feel his own heart struggling to compensate for the blood that was traveling south as Kurt's pelvis rocked against his, intentionally or not, he didn't fucking care.

He chased Kurt's lips, pecking and nipping as his hands dipped lower, smoothing over his ass cheeks, squeezing him through the jeans as he pulled him impossibly closer and listened to the exquisite gasp that penetrated the silence of the apartment as he felt the lewd sound ghost over his lips. Dave reached out to the wall once more and slammed his hand over where he thought the light switch was and somehow managed to hit it dead on. Dave lazily opened his eyes, the solid white walls and incandescent lights nearly assaulting his corneas. Kurt, on the other hand, was a sight to behold. Dave looked down to see both of Kurt's hands winding in the fabric of his shirt. He smirked. Kurt's eyes were still closed, the antithesis of his lips, wantonly parted.

Dave reached out with his hand, simultaneously caressing Kurt's flawless cheek with his fingertips as he brushed the pad of his thumb over Kurt's plump bottom lip. As Kurt's eyes drifted open, Dave leaned forward and briefly caught the rosy flesh between his own. When he pulled back, he uttered one word.

"Bedroom?"

* * *

Kurt couldn't begin to voice a verbal reply, so, instead, he tugged roughly on the fabric of Dave's shirt, bringing their lips together with such intensity it was like a wave crashing into the shore. His legs felt like jelly. He hoped Dave's bedroom was close because he doubted he could make it that far. But he would walk to bloody Mordor if it meant being able to keep kissing Dave.

And kissing Dave was nothing short of deja vu. He knew in his mind that he had never done it before, but it felt so exciting and perfect and safe and familiar all at once. It felt like being reunited with someone he had known for a very long time and lost. He didn't feel scared—even though he had only had one partner. He knew Dave.  _Somehow._  He felt like he easily knew him better than people he had known for years. He had no reason to not trust him, so he allowed Dave to kiss him all the way to the bedroom.

* * *

Dave to guided him past the living room, the tasteful and simple decor lost on the other man. Dave lathed his tongue over his bottom lip. His taste was intoxicating and moan he received in response sent shivers down his spine and he rotated their positions so that he could walk backwards, bumping his bedroom door ajar.

"Fuck," he murmured as he fumbled over the knotted, silky material around Kurt's throat. When Kurt noticed his struggle they separated, gasping for breath.

"Here," Kurt said, taking over. His deft hands loosened the knot and he practically whipped it off his neck and it floated to the floor. Dave gave a chuckle and was glad he was given an excuse to work on Kurt's belt instead.

Dave could feel Kurt gulp as his lips trailed over his slender neck, his teeth dragging lightly over sinewy muscles. He was much more successful on the belt than he was with the neckerchief and was dropping down to his knees. He licked his lips as he pulled down the red material of Kurt's pants down his hips and past his thighs. And then he froze.

Something on Kurt's left thigh caught his eye. Just a few inches below the bottom hem of Kurt's snug briefs was a pink and slightly raised scar about 8 inches long, traveling vertically down Kurt's thigh. Tentatively he reached out and dragged his fingers down the new, though practically healed, scar where the plate had been put in place to mend Kurt's fractured femur. In a few more months it would just be a white line and a few years it would be practically invisible.

"Everything okay?" Kurt asked and Dave looked up just as he pulled the button up shirt over his head rather than taking time to unbutton it.

"Yeah," Dave said in shock, pushing away the thought of anything dealing with the future.

"Everything is fine."


	4. Sleeping In (and Fucking Up)

"Kurt… Kurt can you hear me?"

_Kurt snuggled in closer to Dave's body. His arm draped over his torso, and Dave's fingertips dragged up and down his back. He could easily stay wrapped up in that man's arms forever._

_"We should probably get cleaned up," Dave said in a low rumble. Kurt could only burrow his nose deeper into his husband's chest hair. He closed his eyes._

_"I don't wanna," he said like a petulant child. "Too sleepy."_

"Kurt, if you can hear me I need you to open your eyes for me."

_"What about dinner?" Dave asked._

_"Just a few more minutes, David," Kurt offered. "This is nice. I missed this. Not that I would change anything."_

"Kurt, my name is Doctor David Karofsky and…"

_"So you wouldn't change… Anything?" Dave asked, curiously Kurt looked up._

_"Well…"_

Kurt opened his eyes. His entire body ached and his head felt full and fuzzy. He couldn't have moved even if he tried. But somewhere on his body, despite his pain, he felt a small amount of warmth as somebody took his hand. At least, he was pretty sure it was his hand.

"Kurt…"

He had trouble making out the source of the noise. It was so bright. He had never been in a room so bright. He felt like he was dying. Maybe he was supposed to go towards the light. That's what he had always heard.

"You're in the hospital, Kurt." A large, shadowy form hovered above him. It took a while for this… thing… To come into focus. And when it did he realized it was a person… A man… Wearing some sort of visor and mask. He made himself focus on the soft, comforting green eyes staring at him, as well as the reassuring grip on his hand.

"You were involved in a really bad accident. But we're going to take care of you, okay." The man told him. If he could just get the pain to stop, he would be his his hero.

Despite the world of pain he was in, something told Kurt he could trust this man… He  _knew_  this man. And he knew he was going to be okay.

* * *

Kurt blinked as a ray of warm sunlight hit his face. He moaned contentedly as he remembered where he was. The fluffy sheets and pillows had an familiar scent that he couldn't place, but if was homey and comforting he knew exactly who it belonged to as he closed his eyes and let his memories from the previous night unfold. The walk back to the apartment. Dave on his knees enthusiastically giving him the best blow job of his life before slowly opening him up, alternating between his thick fingers and his warm, wet tongue until Dave was certain he would be ready for his cock.

Kurt shivered. Not from the cold but the thought of Dave and how hard he had gotten from the mere preparation before entering him with such care and consideration. It was perfect. It was slow, but not painstakingly so. Just enough to make him tremble and moan at the thought of Dave wanting to savor every moment. Every thrust and gasp until they were slick with sweat, sticky, and utterly spent.

It was everything he dreamt it would be.

Kurt heard footsteps padding around the room, and he smiled. Sitting up and stretching his arms high above his head.

"Good morning."

* * *

Dave froze at the sound of Kurt's voice. He had been searching in his armoire for something to wear when he heard a gentle yawn, not unlike the one he heard when Kurt had woken up to him sitting in the hospital.

Fuck. What was he  _thinking?_

"Wow, it's early," Kurt said when he didn't respond. Dave could feel the panic rising in his throat like bile. He had slept with Kurt. This was bad. This was really, really bad. Sure he hadn't been drunk or even tipsy when he and Kurt had been flirting at the bar, but the alcohol had definitely taken the edge off. He doubted he would have been as brazen to sleep with a former patient if he hadn't been drinking a little bit of liquid courage.

"Do you usually wake up at this time?"

Dave slipped on the plain, navy blue shirt that he was holding in his hands. He knew he would have to turn around eventually, but that would mean seeing Kurt in his bed. The way he talked. It was so…  _Easy._

So  _marital._

"Not a morning person. I see. That's fine." Kurt mumbled. Dave closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose. He couldn't do this. It was a mistake. He should have told Kurt outright that he wasn't looking for a relationship—thirty years old or not. The image of a toddler swam in front of his eyes as he struggled to calm down. He had never planned on having kids. Never planned on getting married. Did Kurt expect these things from him? Is that why he had talked him up the night before? Because whatever Kurt had seen in his dream was what he expected from Dave? Some little puzzle piece that he thought was useful enough to complete a larger picture?

"Do you think you could get dressed, I have to be out the door in twenty minutes," Dave said numbly. His voice was raspy and he hoped he could play it off as being a product of having just woken up.

It was a lie.

He had nowhere to be. But he couldn't imagine having an episode in front of Kurt. He couldn't be here. He was already having a hard time breathing. He just wished he could reach into his chest and surgically remove whatever it was that made him feel this way. Made his heart pound, his face flush, and spine tingle with a cold chill. He rested his hands on the armoire, wanting very much to disappear. He wished, now, that he did have a job to go to. It had always been his one outlet. It kept his mind off the very real turmoil that spread throughout his body like a poison. With nothing to do now, he was stuck. And he was scared. What would Kurt expect from him? He was just thankful that he somehow managed to neglect to tell him he wasn't working at Reagan anymore. At least he had an excuse.

"Oh… Yeah. Sure." Kurt sounded disappointed, if not saddened, by the prospect of having to leave.

Being kicked out was more like it.

"Hey, maybe I could leave with you and we could get coffee on the—"

"I don't have time to get coffee. I'm running late because you decided to sleep over."

 _'Dammit. Please just leave,'_ he thought bitterly. He couldn't do this right now. He covered his face with his hands. And exhaled sharply. To Kurt, he probably sounded angry and frustrated, but in all honesty… He was suffocating.

"Well, you easily could have said something when you were rolling off of me last night." Dave could hear the disdain in his voice followed by the sound of the bed creaking as he got out of it. "Or we could have done this some other time. When you wouldn't be a complete ass the next morning. Perhaps you could have warned me of that."

_'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'_

"I didn't realize I was required to tell a one night stand every aspect about my life," Dave grunted as he moved towards the bathroom, hating himself more and more. Kurt already hated him, so what did it matter.

"One night stand?" Kurt said, deadpanned and breathless like he had just been delivered a heavy blow. Dave turned on the faucet and filled his hands up with cool water and splashed his face just as he felt his eyes begin to sting. "Do you usually tell one night stands about your family and your life? All that stuff I told you about my dad and my mom and my ex… Why are you acting like…?" Dave turned off the water just as Kurt trailed off. As he dried his face he could hear Kurt utter three syllables to himself.

"Oh my God…"

Dave let the towel fall on the edge of the sink. Slowly he emerged from the bathroom to see Kurt standing at the foot of the bed. The already put his pants and shirt on from the night before. His arms hung limply at his side and his eyes were full of disbelief. "You lied to me didn't you?"

Dave couldn't do anything besides stare at Kurt. He felt sick.

"You did see something. And you lied to me about it, because…" Kurt narrowed his eyes.

"I don't understand what it is that you want from me," Dave said with irritation. "We met up at the bar, we had a few drinks, we flirted, and we had sex. I don't know what you're expecting."

Kurt puffed his chest, indignant.

"I don't expect anything from you other than respect and maybe a little bit of compassion, considering your line of work. To treat me like a human being not some stray dog you picked up off the street. Obviously you seem to be lacking both towards me." Dave took a step towards Kurt.

"You don't know me. I'm not your friend. I hardly your acquaintance. Just because I was able to resuscitate you in the emergency room only means that I did my job right."

"I'm a doctor," he continued. "I get paid for what I do. My patients are my priority, so I'm so sorry you're not my patient anymore and it's not my job to worry about you." It scared him how good he was getting at lying to Kurt.

"Oh… Right. Because you only care about people who pay for your salary, right?" Surprisingly, Kurt's acrid words actually stung. He certainly didn't become a doctor for the pay. He loved being able to help people. And the financial debt he was in due to student loans was a testament to that.

"You don't know anything about me."

"You keep saying that," Kurt said shrilly. His fists were clenched in frustration and his face was red. It was likely they were mirror images of each other at this point. "But I know what I saw in—"

"Whatever the hell it was you saw in that stupid dream was not real. I am not that person. I'm not your husband and I'm never going to be your husband, and the sooner you realize that the better." Dave was breathing heavily and he took a staggering step back. He might as well have punched Kurt. He might have looked less pained at physical violence than his biting words full of vitriol. "You have no idea…" Dave whispered. He might have just woken up, but he felt so tired and completely drained.

Kurt wasn't done though.

"What did  _you_  see?" Kurt asked softly. Dave crossed his arms protectively in front of him.

"Why does it matter so much to you?" Dave asked, his voice full of desperation. "To everybody? It's not real. That wasn't… You would  _never_ …"

Kurt gave a wet laugh. His eyes were red, like he was doing everything he could to keep from crying on the spot. He was so strong—stronger than he would ever be.

"What are you so afraid of? That it's just going to happen over night?" Kurt threw his hands into the air. "That you're just going to wake up and it will be four years from now and you're going to have a kid-"

"Stop." Dave could feel his breath catch in his chest. What was Kurt trying to do to him? Kurt didn't stop there, though. He was already on a roll, and only kept going regardless of Dave's plea.

"And a husband that loves you. And for once, in your miserable life, you're happy."

"What if I didn't want any of that?" Dave demanded, nearly shouting over him. He was certain he would be hearing from his downstairs neighbors later. "What if the married, perfect little white picket fence life wasn't what I would have picked out for myself?" It was hard to want to plan for the future when he was constantly stuck, just trying to get through the day. "You think that some little dream you had can tell you all that you need to know about me. Well, you don't."

Kurt gathered himself, standing tall his chin jutting out.

"I don't know," he said. Though his voice was dangerously calm, his lip trembled and his body shook with barely contained rage. "I think I gained quite a bit of perspective."

"You…" Dave started to say, but Kurt cut him off.

"I wasn't talking about the dream. I was talking about these past five minutes. I think…  _No._  You know what. I'm not going to attempt to psychoanalyze you. You're the doctor, after all, right?" Kurt laughed bitterly. "And I'm just the lowly magazine intern—just a paycheck and a piece of ass for once night. You're right, Dr. Karofsky. That wasn't you."

Dave felt like he'd been slapped. The psychoanalysis part hitting him especially hard.

"You need to leave," Dave said quietly looking at the corner of the desk so he wouldn't have to see the expression on Kurt's face. Whether he was hurt or livid. He didn't really care. At this point he didn't know who he was more mad at—himself for being such a belligerent asshole or Kurt for expecting so much from him.

"With pleasure," Kurt said with a sniff and Dave could almost imagine the tears finally running down his ruddy cheeks. "And thanks for the early birthday present, by the way." Before he could even look up, Kurt was charging through the bedroom door to Dave's left. Dave stayed glue to the spot until he heard the door open and slam shut.

Dave shuffled to the right side of the bed where a piece of out-of-place black fabric caught his eye.

Kurt's neckerchief.

Dave collapsed on the bed trying to understand what had happened and why he felt so adamant in pushing Kurt away. And when his birthday was coming up? Dave could only bury his face in his hands. For the first time since he was eighteen years old Dave wept. He knew, deep down, nothing had changed. He was the same scared little boy he had always been.


	5. Shutting Down (and Breaking In)

**Promises of Tomorrow**

Chapter 5

_Shutting Down (and Breaking In)_

Dave was lying in bed when he heard it. The incessant slap of a hand pounding on his front door.

It was too early for this shit.

Dave rolled over onto his stomach, still buried beneath the covers. He peeked out and stared at his alarm clock, his face expressionless.

_12:36 pm_

Okay… Maybe it wasn't that early.

Dave hadn't been quite awake, but he hadn't been quite asleep either. Rather, he woke up that morning without getting up. He stayed in bed trying to convince himself that he could hold his urge to empty his bladder for another hour, and another hour after that. He didn't bother with breakfast, just as he hadn't bothered with breakfast the last six days. He simply stayed in bed, existing in a limbo of wanting to fall asleep, but knowing there were more productive things he should be doing. But he was too tired to do either, so he did nothing, and that was sign enough that he had a problem. He was too tired to drift off. Too tired to deal with the emotions of waking up and remembering that morning less than a week earlier. The day Kurt Hummel walked out of his apartment in a flash of red and white. Walked out of his life. The pain was still too much to bear, and the dreams of barely-there kisses and their bodies moving in tandem even more so.

It ended too soon. And it was all because of him.

The pounding didn't stop. He tried to close his eyes and wish it all away, but that particular method had yet to work on all of his other problems. He couldn't imagine why it would it work on making the insane person knocking on his door just go away. Give up. Just like he had.

"Dave! Dave, open up!"

Dave buried his head in his pillow at the sound of the muffled voice outside of his apartment. It didn't matter if it was 5 o'clock in the morning, or midnight, or now. There was never a good time to deal with an angry and persistent Santana Lopez.

"Dammit, Dave, I know you're in there. Open the damn door, or I'm breaking it down."

"Go away," Dave mumbled into the fabric of his pillowcase. He knew she wouldn't hear him. He just hoped that maybe some deity did and was able to answer his prayer for solitude.

"I see how it is. You wanna play games? Auntie 'Tana can play games," Dave heard Santana shout. For ten confusing and blissful seconds, silence surrounded Dave. But a sound of a click and the creak of his front door interrupted that silence.

Dave bolted upright.

"Well, that certainly worked we-Oh my God."

Santana froze in Dave's doorway of his bedroom. She was wearing periwinkle blue scrubs that day and she styled her hair into a high, bouncy ponytail. As usual, her makeup looked impeccable and Dave could only assume she came by his apartment on her lunch break. Meanwhile, he was wearing the same shirt and pajama pants he had worn all week. He was certain that his hair stuck up in every direction from his lack of showering and sleeping all day.

"Did you just…" Dave rubbed a hand over his tired, weary eyes. "Break into my apartment?"

"That depends…? Is it breaking in if I have a key?" He looked up at her and saw the glare of gold she was holding up. It was the key he kept hidden on top of the wall lantern outside his front door.

Lovely.

"I haven't heard from you in almost a week. Why haven't you called me? Or answered any of my messages?" Santana demanded, stepping into his room.

"Well…" Dave let out a grunt as he plopped back down in his bed. "Maybe I knew you would just break in to my apartment if I didn't call you. Save me data on my phone plan." His voice was sarcastic as he pulled his comforter up to his chin.

Santana didn't laugh.

"Dave… What the hell is going on." Santana's voice was more gentle than he had ever heard it and full of concern. He gave a dry swallow. He didn't realize until now how thirsty he was.

"It doesn't matter," he croaked. He couldn't bring himself to look at her.

The carpet may have muted the sound her work sneakers, but he knew she was walking towards him as her voice grew louder. And then he felt a dip in the mattress as she sat down on the edge knew his knees.

"I know I tend to give you a hard time, but that's only because I'm an only child and sibling disputes are the only kind of disputes I missed out on as a kid. You're the closest thing I have to a brother, and you know that. If you want to talk to me, you can. It's pretty obvious there's something going on. Have you even found a new job yet? I don't know how many hospitals are going to hire you when you're looking more like Zach Galifianakis than Zach Braff." She motioned towards his face. He couldn't remember the last time he shaved.

"I haven't been looking." Dave closed his eyes, hating himself the longer the conversation went on.

"Dave… They're not going to want to hire someone who's out of practice."

"I know," Dave said, the words coming out in a whisper. He breathed in so deep it felt like his lungs would pop, attempting to calm the panic that was rising in his chest. He knew what was coming. He didn't think he was ready for an intervention. He didn't want to talk about things. He wasn't ready for a whole other type of coming out. He just wanted to sleep.

"Something's wrong, Dave. And if you ask me, I think you would say something has been wrong for a long time." He let her words fill him. There was so much truth behind them. She was such a good friend to notice what he had been hiding. He didn't know what he did to deserve someone like her. She cared so much-cared more about him than he did himself.

Dave felt the edge of the comforter he was clinging to slip from his grasp. Santana pulled it away so she could see his face. He felt like a child whose mother was attempting to coax out of bed to go to school-only he was thirty years old. A goddamn adult who was selfish enough to go a week without contacting his friends and making them worry.

What was wrong with him?

"I fucked up." Dave didn't mean to say it. It sort of just slipped out. The pain. It's too much. Too unbearable. He thought about how he planned to kill himself three months earlier. The moment before the Blackout didn't hurt nowhere near as much as the pain brought on by the guilt of how he treated Kurt. He let out a broken sob. "I fucked up so bad, San."

Santana stared at him, looking as heartbroken and confused as he felt. He raised a hand to hide the tears as they spilled into his cheeks. It was like a dam that had been filling up more than a decade. The last time he cried like this was the day his teammates outed him.

He felt Santana before he heard her, as she practically crawled over him. She held him, her body wrapping protectively over his. He couldn't help but hold fast to her arm, holding on for dear life as he cried.

"I fucked up," he said again. Admitting it, he realized, made him feel so much better.

"Oh, Dave," she whispered. "Hey, it's okay. Everything's okay," she said soothingly. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

She held him for a few minutes, allowing him to get all the pain and guilt out of his system until he could calm down. Once the toxic emotions had exited his body, he pulled away from Santana. Sitting up, he wiped his eyes on the collar of his shirt. Santana sat up as well, but kept one hand on his back. His eyes felt raw and itchy.

Santana waited for him to speak rather than prompting him. He felt that after so much had left his body, it was hard to keep anything else from coming out as well.

He told her everything. About Kurt. About the night after the bar and the morning after. But more importantly, he told her about the dream and about his fears. How as much as he wished it were true, he knew it could never be. And Santana listened to his confession and all the emotions and turmoil she never knew her friend was going through… Was still going through. After all, she was the only person who knew about his suicide attempt in high school.

"I thought I would get better," Dave said. "It's not like I'm surrounded by those negative people anymore. I thought when I moved here all those years ago I could finally be happy."

Santana crawled over to him, sitting on the bed so that their hips were touching.

"You know… You might have left all the negativity behind you, but the one thing that you have to take with you when you move somewhere else is baggage. You left Ohio, but you brought all those memories with you."

"When something as horrible as someone spray-painting the "f" word on your locker happens… Being outed before you were ready and not knowing what would happen… When someone who is supposed to love you turns their back on you because they think you can be cured… Those things leave a lasting impact."

Dave closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him. Maybe he couldn't control the things that had happened to him in his life, but he could control how he dealt with them.

"I think I need help." He admitted, for the first ever, as he nodded resolutely.

Santana said nothing, remaining nonjudgmental and patient as he continued.

"There has to be something wrong with me. I liked Kurt. A lot. But the things I said to him… You wouldn't believe the things that came out of my mouth," he shook his head feeling disgusted with himself. "If I had said those things to you, you would have slapped the shit out of me. But he… He just seemed to absorb it. Like he had heard it all before—from someone else. I know how much I hurt him, but I didn't mean to hurt him. I only wanted to distance myself from him. But he just… Wouldn't give up."

"Okay…" Santana cut in. "So you like the twink. Apologize to him." Dave laughed humorlessly, shaking his head.

"It's not that easy. I don't see him as someone who forgives people easily."

'I can't even forgive myself, not that I deserve it.'

"And it's more than that. It's me… I need to talk to someone. There's no point in apologizing if I'm just going to keep hurting him over and over again."

"Whatever you decide to do… You just tell me what I can do to help and I'll do it, okay. You're not alone in this." Santana took his hand. "I know it's different for you, but I think everyone is at least a little terrified of what happened. With the Blackout."

Dave frowned. And then he realized something.

"Hey, what um… What did you see in your dream." Santana smiled sadly.

"Fine…" she gave him a sad smile."I'll indulge you."

"I saw myself driving—somewhere around here in Santa Monica—and the sun was going down. I… I was at a stop light and I sent you a text, actually." She frowned thoughtfully. "I think I just remember typing that I was on my way. I guess I was meeting with you for some reason. But then I put my phone down and…" Dave watched as Santana developed a faraway look in her eyes.

"What is it?"

"You know that blonde nurse on the second floor. Brittany Pierce?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, I look up and she's sitting in the passenger seat next to me. And she's just… Absolutely beautiful, bathed in the sunset, and she just… Reaches over to hold my hand and… That was it." She smile contentedly as she relived the moment.

"You have a thing for her," Dave said, giving her a nudge.

Santana looked away from him.

"I've never even talked to her. I've seen her so many times in the cafeteria building tepees with french fries, but I've never had the courage to introduce myself. Isn't that sad?" she scoffed.

"No," Dave said firmly. Sad would be insulting her and completely driving her away. Like he had with Kurt. "You should talk to her. Ask her out for a drink sometime."

"Yeah." Santana agreed. "Let's make a deal that when you fix things with Kurt and I ask Brittany out, we have to double date. Okay?"

"Deal," Dave said, hugging Santana. It terrified him, sure, but making plans for the future was much less daunting than relying on the future that he already saw.

Maybe, just maybe, he could continue to take these baby steps to a brighter tomorrow.


	6. Moving In (and Moving On)

As Dave jogged through the neighborhood a few blocks away from his apartment, it was with a smile on his face. Sure, it probably wasn't a good idea to be exercising in the hot September sun, and he was more than certain he was going to die of heatstroke by the time he made it home, but for the first time in years he actually felt good. Better than good.

He had a new job that was closer to his apartment than the hospital. He was still able to help people and not to mention it was less stressful and he was able to set his own hours. On top of that, he had made due on his promise to Santana and himself. Three months earlier and the week after he broke down to her, he started seeing a therapist. It was crazy how he could go about his life for so many years feeling like utter shit, until one day he was able to talk to someone who was able to put a name (or two, rather) to his symptoms and get him the help he needed with a tiny little pill and an hour of talk therapy a week. Sure, he was still sorting out his life, but for the first time in a long time the future looked bright.

It had been a difficult step to take, but he did it and was grateful for it. He felt like he was finally able to function and go about his life with a semblance of normalcy. And the first thing on his list was to take up going for walks again. Which quickly transformed into jogging.

Dave had never been the fittest of individuals, but he always enjoyed doing drills on the football field in high school. To feel his lungs burning and his heart racing in his chest from physical fitness rather than anxiety was something he realized he had missed.

As Dave turned the corner, he made the mistake of jogging past a parked moving truck in front of someone's driveway, and, before he could stop himself, he found himself colliding with a person stepping out from behind it and carrying a large, and rather heavy looking box.

_Thunk._

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry!" The person gasped as Dave steadied himself and the other person, teetering dangerously on the edge of the curb, before they could fall.

"No, it's my fault, I… Kurt?" Dave wheezed as he saw the surprised, almond-shaped eyes from over the box turn ice cold in an instant. It had been months since he saw him last, and their last encounter, or goodbye, weighed heavily on his mind-despite how many therapy sessions he attended.

"Oh… It's you." Kurt looked Dave up and down dismissively before turning on his heel. Considering how sweaty and disheveled he looked, it didn't make him feel any better. Dave followed him up the sidewalk, but stopped in front of the walkway leading up to the house, like there was an invisible barrier that Dave couldn't cross. Or at least didn't want to cross in fear of retribution.

"Kurt…" Kurt ignored Dave, carrying the box up to the front of the house and stopping when two women came out of the apartment. He was fairly certain they were the same two women Kurt had waved goodbye to when they left the bar that night in May. The same two women that he learned were now dating his friends Finn and Puck after getting their numbers at the bar.

Kurt stopped in front of them and they pulled the box from his arms. Dave watched as they put their heads together, whispering frantically; they looked like they were in a football huddle. Kurt seemed to be shushing them and the girl with the straighter hair and prominent nose seemed to be nodding her head in his direction. Dave felt suddenly self-conscious standing there. He wondered if he should just leave.

As he swayed anxiously on the spot, he overheard Kurt hiss "fine!" to his two companions before turning on the spot and practically stomping towards him.

"What do you want?" Kurt demanded staring at him straight on.

"Um… I was just on a run. I didn't exactly plan on running into you. Are you moving in here?" Dave asked shyly.

"Judging by the boxes," Kurt crossed his arms in front of himself, not impressed with his deductive reasoning. "Obviously."

"Do you guys need help with carrying anything? I just got off work. I could give you a hand?" he offered. Kurt's face remained impassive, offering Dave no insight to his thoughts. Except, maybe, that Kurt was still unbelievably pissed off at him.

"I think we can manage, Dr. Karofsky. Thank you, if that will be all." Kurt looped around Dave and went back to the moving truck. He attempted to lift the box that was sitting on the edge, but to no avail. He grunted and heaved, only managing to lift it a few inches before it collapsed back on to the surface with a thunk.

"Here let me help." As Dave moved torward Kurt, the shorter man help out a hand, stopping him. His face was red with frustration and, likely, anger towards him.

Dave couldn't blame him.

"Why are you here?" Kurt glowered. "To emasculate me? To try to be the big man so I'd forgive you for what happened four months ago? I didn't forget, Dave. You. Hurt. Me." Kurt enunciated the last three words in an effort to drive the message home.

Dave shook his head.

"Kurt…"

"You can save your apologies," Kurt said as he went back to moving the box. Dave reached out, barely touching his arm. Kurt glared daggers at him and Dave drew back. But Dave wasn't going to give up so easily.

"I'm not going to apologize to you because I know that what I did was beyond forgiveness." For a moment Dave that he saw Kurt's eyes soften as he took in his words. "Look. I fucked up and I said things to you that I wish that I could take back. But I can't. I didn't mean any of it, but that doesn't change how out of line I was and how much I hurt you. But what I could do was make sure that I wouldn't do it again. To you or anyone else. I wasn't in a good place and… I've been working on it. I know you don't care about me and you probably never want to see my face again. I just need you to know that it wasn't you. You're…" Dave paused taking in a breath as well as Kurt's dumbfounded expression. He doubted Kurt expected to ever see him again, let alone receive an apology. Even if it wasn't technically an apology. But he listened patiently.

"Incredible," Dave said finally. "And way too good for me. Hell, you're too good for most people. And I should probably just go now before your friends spontaneously combust with excitement over there thinking something else is happening, but before I forget." Dave reached into the pocket of his basketball shorts and pulled out a semi-transparent, square piece of black and white fabric, and held it out to Kurt. The expressionless look on Kurt's face didn't last long. His face went slack with disbelief and then relief.

"My neckerchief," Kurt breathed, reaching out for it mindlessly. Dave let it slip from his fingertips as Kurt took it from him. "It was my mom's from the eighties during her rocker phase." Kurt laughed as he explained this to him, momentarily forgetting his rage. "I can't believe how careless I was with it." The way Kurt looked up at Dave nearly took his breath away. God, he missed that smile. He didn't even know Kurt long enough to be able to appreciate it. All he had to hold on to was one night, a botched morning after, and a memory that never happened. For just one fleeting moment, Kurt seemed to forget he was supposed to be mad at him.

"I never thought I'd see it again," he looked down at it pensively in his hand, his thumb rubbing over the fabric. "Wait, so… You just carried it around with you?" He looked up at Dave, frowning curiously.

"Well, I figured you had to live close by. But I didn't know where you lived. So… Yeah. I guess I just wanted to make sure you got it back. Had to run in sooner or later. Though I would have expected it to be a little less literal." Kurt let a little laugh out at their mishap. If it wasn't cage in, his heart would have soared from his chest.

"I told you where I worked. You could have just dropped it off." Dave's mouth formed an "o" shape. He really hadn't thought of that—not that he'd have the guts to show his face at Kurt's place of work.

"Well, I wouldn't want you to think I was stalking you or something," he chuckled, scratching the back of his head.

"Says the guy who just so happened to show up at my new house on moving day." Kurt, much to Dave's joyous and immense relief Kurt gave him a sly smile.

Dave held up his hands. "Complete coincidence. Swear."

"Mmhm," Kurt hummed dubiously. "Well, you got it back to me. That's all that matters." Kurt tapped the immovable box distractedly and Dave shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Right," Dave nodded solemnly. "Well, I guess I'll let you get back to moving. Unless you want me to help you with this-"

"No!" Kurt said a little too loudly, causing Dave to flinch in surprise. "I mean… I'll get Rachel or Mercedes to help me with it. But… Thanks. For this," Kurt said genuinely as he held up the neckerchief.

"Yeah, no problem." This was it. He told himself. This was the last time he was going to see him.

"You take care, Kurt," Dave forced out, the words tearing at his throat like knives. Why did it have to be this way, he thought as he started to walk away. His mind, being clearer than it had ever been, scolded him for the grave mistake he had made. Why did he have to go and screw up everything?

"David!"

Dave stopped in his tracks, standing by a trashcan in front of Kurt's new neighbor's front yard. He turned around to see Kurt winding the scarf nervously in his hands.

"I'm really glad you figured stuff out. With yourself, I mean." Kurt added. His words were genuine, which made Dave's heart ache all the more so. Kurt was just… So good. To think of his well-being like that. "You're… I think you'll make somebody really happy someday."

Dave could only nod numbly.

_'I'm sorry it couldn't have been you.'_

He had long since lost his chance, and it didn't take going their separate ways to realize that.


	7. Eating Out (and Looking Forward)

November came by quickly for Dave.

As much as he thought he missed his old job at the emergency room as well as his mentors and friends, he was beginning to feel at home at the urgent care center. He enjoyed the one on one interactions with his patients, and the sudden decrease in blood and death was surprisingly nice. Though he had to say the best thing that came out of the move was stumbling upon the Thai food place next door, which had the best Pad Thai he ever had.

It was half-past-five on a Tuesday and, instead of going home and having to face the prospect of what he could plan for dinner, he chose to go the easy route and stop in to the restaurant for take-out.

When he stepped inside, the door bell let out a little chime announcing his arrival, and he discovered it was practically desolate. But then again, it was a small, hole-in-the-wall type restaurant, and, considering it wasn't six o'clock yet, the dinner rush had yet to swarm the place. He was glad he wouldn't have to wait long to take his order home with him.

"Hello, sir, welcome to Thai Cuisine. Are you here for a pick up?" The young woman behind the counter asked him brightly once he stepped up to the podium.

"Hi. No. But I would like to-" Dave trailed off, hearing a commotion to his right. From his peripheral vision he saw a waiter talking heatedly with a guest sitting in the second booth. And he couldn't help but eavesdrop at the sound of a familiar, and rather shrill, voice.

* * *

"Sir, you've been here for an hour, I must ask you to either order or-" The waiter started to say exasperatedly before Kurt cut him off.

"Please, just give me another fifteen minutes," he practically begged. "I'm sure he's just stuck in traffic and I really don't want the food to get cold before he gets here." Hell, I don't even know what kind of dish he usually orders, Kurt thought bitterly to himself.

He knew he never should have trusted Rachel Berry to set him up on a blind date.

"I'm afraid there are other people who could use this table." Kurt nearly laughed in his face.

"What are you talking about there's hardly anybody-" As Kurt tried to explain the flaw in his reasoning, he found somebody was slipping into the booth opposite of him. Somebody who he knew could not possibly be his date.

Two months since he last saw him, and David Karofsky was still making a habit of running into him.

* * *

Dave didn't have to think about what he was doing. All he had to do was see the face, and the obvious distress caused by the unsympathetic waiter, coupled by the obvious fact that Kurt had been stood up, and he is charging over to the booth.

"Hey, babe, sorry I'm late." Kurt's head swiveled in his direction so fast when he sat down that Dave feared he gave the man whiplash. "Traffic was crazy. God, you must starving. Do you know what you want to order?" Dave looks over the top of his menu at Kurt. He is shocked to say the least, and, for some reason, pretty pissed off as well.

"Yes, actually," Kurt said in a saccharinely sweet tone, playing along. "I would like the red curry shrimp with vegetables and the chicken pad thai, both mild, please. And to drink I would like a Thai iced coffee with cream." Kurt hands the menu back to the waiter politely despite their earlier exchange. The waiter took the menu and turned to Dave.

"And for you, sir?"

"I would like the cashew chicken and a chicken pad thai as well." Kurt cleared his throat.

" _Sweetheart_ ," Kurt said through gritted teeth and with a frightening fake smile. "Perhaps we should just  _share_  the pad thai I ordered considering we are  _together_ , after all."

"Oh, right," Dave said, returning his menu this time. "We'll just do that. And an iced tea would be great." He smiled at the waiter, and then at Kurt. It was hard to tell, but he thought he could see Kurt giving him the most imperceptible shake of his head.

"I'll be back with your drinks in just a moment."

"What the  _hell_ are you doing, Karofsky," Kurt broke the silence the moment the waiter went through the kitchen door at the back of the room. The outburst caused his nose to flair a little and he kept glancing behind Dave like he expected his date to come bounding in at any moment.

Dave laughed. "Oh, so it's just Karofsky now, I see how it is. I'm pretending to be your date, what does it look like I'm doing?"

"No, from the looks of it you're assuming I got stood up." Dave couldn't help but feel guilty at being caught.

"Look," Dave tried to explain, "the waiter said that you would have to leave. If your date shows up, I'll say I'm just a friend and I'll leave. Deal?" Kurt stared at Dave and the earnest look on his face before sitting back in his seat dejectedly.

"No… You don't have to sugar coat it. I know he's not coming. I just… You don't have to try and save me. I appreciated it the first time but I don't need you to coddle me. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can. I was just trying to be nice. You know, for  _once_."

Kurt smirked.

"Besides, you told me you wanted to be a performer. So we're just acting like we're together, right? You should feel right at home." Kurt's eyes narrowed at him curiously. He gave him a once over.

"I can't believe you would remember that." Kurt shook his head in disbelief.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know." Kurt shrugged as he played with the paper ring holding his napkin and silverware together. "Most guys I've met just pretend to be interested to get in my p-" Kurt looks down at the table, recalling how Dave had done just that. Though it seemed obvious, now, that it hadn't been his intention.

"Can I ask who you were waiting for?" Dave said, changing the subject.

"My friend Rachel set me up with one of her co-workers. But as you kindly pointed out, I guess he decided that he was out of my league and decided not to come."

"I wasn't trying to point it out. I'd just hate for him to find out what he's missing."

"A good meal?" Kurt scoffed.

"And better company." Kurt gave Dave a dubious look.

"What's the deal, huh? Why are you doing this? To make me feel better about myself after being stood up? To feel better about yourself?"

"No. And  _no_ ," Dave emphasized on the second point. "I'm doing this because I'm hungry and…"

"And what?" Kurt said impatiently.

Dave sighed.

"I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone. I just got off work. I'm starving, and if I could prevent you from being upset and possibly try to cheer you up than I would take that chance. Obviously I'm not doing as well as I hoped."

For just a moment, Kurt looked pensive.

"You're doing better than you think," he says with his head bowed.

Dave stared silently at Kurt as their waiter returned to their table with drinks.

"Really?" Dave said once they were alone once more. Kurt reached out for his drink and dragged it towards him. Kurt nodded silently as he took a sip of his iced coffee before stirring it.

Dave couldn't help but smile. Not a forced or even "pretend date" smile, but a grin that he knows will light up his entire face.

"Wow, that's a first," Kurt voiced as he set his drink back down.

"What?"

"Just… Your smile." Kurt attempted to sound disinterested. "I don't recall it looking as genuine as it does now. What changed?"

Dave gave a little chuckle. He couldn't begin to tell Kurt how much had changed. So he decided to go with the condensed version.

"I'm just really happy right now," he explained with a quirk of his lips.

"Oh." And Kurt must have seen the change because as the waiter came back to their table with their food, Dave could feel Kurt's eyes on him as if trying to figure out what could be the cause of it.

Just as Dave is about to dig into his food, Kurt spoke up.

"I would understand if you want to take your food to go. I'm sure you had other plans that didn't involve playing fake date with me."

Dave raised an eyebrow. Surely Kurt was joking?

"What if I wanted this to be a date?" he asked simply. He stared unblinkingly at Kurt as he made a pile of white rice on his plate.

"Dave…" Kurt said warningly. Dave set the spoon back down in the bowl.

"I know I don't deserve another chance with you."

"No, you don't," Kurt assured him.

"But the issues that I had at the time… They've been taken care of Kurt. You were right. That wasn't me."

"How do you expect me to believe that?"

"Not counting any grudges you hold against me from May. Have you had an urge to punch me since I sat down here?" Dave raised an eyebrow.

Kurt almost smiled.

Dave took a deep breath. He could do this. It would be the first time he talked about it with someone who wasn't Santana, but it was the only way. He had to be honest with Kurt.

"Dysthymia," he said.

"Pardon?" Kurt gave him a look like he had just been insulted.

"You asked me what changed. I'm telling you. When I saw you that day when you were moving, I told you I talked to someone. Meaning a therapist. And they diagnosed me with dysthymia." Kurt frowned in what looked like concern. "Dysthymia and panic disorder. That morning we got into a fight. I started thinking about the dream and I freaked out. I had a panic attack and didn't know what it was at the time. It doesn't excuse my behavior, not by a long shot, but I've gotten it under control. I meant what I said when I ran into you that day. It wasn't you."

"Why… Why couldn't you have just told me what was happening?"

"Kurt… _I_  didn't know what was happening."

"Right. Hold on."

Dave watched curiously as Kurt slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled something out across the table. Dave picks it up. It's a small coin.

"Is this…?" He reads the message on the coin.  _TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE._  There was a red triangle in the middle with a number two in it. "A sobriety coin?"

Kurt nods a little sadly, but a little proudly too.

"Two years." Dave gaped. He understood now why Kurt didn't take him up on the drink that night at the bar. And the fact that he was able to go to the bar with his friends and still enjoy himself and not feel the urge to drink… Dave couldn't help but feel a newfound respect for the man.

"But you're like…Twenty-two."

"Twenty-three," Kurt corrected him as Dave ran his thumb over the surface of the coin. "I got started young, I guess you can say. By a very short blonde woman with a rather incredible voice."

"Why?" Dave asked sadly

Kurt snorted. "You're not the only one who had a rough time in high school David. I used it to cope. With the bullying—I was bullied a lot. My dad had a heart attack my sophomore year and I didn't think he would make it. And then had to undergo radiation therapy for cancer when I first started college. My boyfriend cheated on me. And then we got back together a few months later and… He was very controlling and manipulative. It… Sucked." He gave a hollow laugh. "I knew I had a problem when I started to bring a flask with me to class. And my friends had an intervention."

"They sound like good friends." Dave thought of Santana and how she had helped him.

"Do you think any less of me now that I've told you that?"

Dave was taken-aback.

"No, why would you think that?"

"Because I'm trying to make a point that you're not alone. And we shouldn't have to deal with these things alone. The next time… If there is a next time… And you feel like you're having a panic attack… Tell me. Don't push me away." Kurt's expression was kind and soft and made butterflies materialize in his stomach.

"Yeah…" Dave nodded and swallowed thickly. He was glad that he chose to sit in front of Kurt—glad the man existed and somehow was tentatively allowing Dave into his life. He made to return the coin to Kurt, but pulled back just as Kurt held his hand out expectantly. Dave raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "But… Next time?"

Kurt pouted. "I'm still mad at you but… Maybe?" Dave put the coin in Kurt's hand.

"Maybe…" Dave repeated. He could work with a maybe. He licked his lips. "So… Does that mean this is a date?" Dave asked casually as he spooned some curry onto his pile of rice.

"I'll have to think about it."

"I'll pay," he added.

"I'll  _think_ about it."

The mischievous smile on Kurt's face told Dave he probably didn't need the rest of dinner to come to a decision.

* * *

"I thought this wasn't supposed to be a date." Dave watched Kurt in fascination as he kicked off his shoes and then his socks, stuffing them into the shoes, which he picked up. Even if it was a date, and he hoped it was, it was starting to become a very interesting one.

"Well maybe I needed a little bit more time to decide, hmm? Now are you going to take your shoes off or do you want to deal with sand in them?"

Dave gave a teasing groan.

"Aww, but I haven't had time to get my weekly pedicure." Dave said already obliging and slipping off his shoes. Kurt stuck out his tongue as he wiggled his feet in the cool sand.

"Oh that feels nice. Now hurry up," he said impatiently.

"What's the rush?" Dave asked as he followed suit, picking up his shoes and stepping onto the beach. "Also… I think now would be a good time to remind you: I can't swim."

"Okay, one we're not going swimming—it's November, are you kidding? And two I still don't understand how that's even possible."

"It's a long story. So what's the plan?"

"Come on." Kurt said holding the hand out to Dave that wasn't holding the shoes. Dave slipped his hand into it and their fingers tangled with each other innately. "Let's go for a walk."

"Okay," Dave said cautiously. Up ahead he could see the pier. The purple lights of the Ferris wheel reflected on the water as the sun began to sink below the horizon. He hoped that wasn't where they were going. Maybe someday he would be able to visit the pier with Kurt and maybe ride on the ferris wheel. But he didn't think he was ready to return just yet—antidepressants or not, remembering the day he nearly killed himself was still a bit too painful. Especially when he thought everything he would have missed—finishing his residency, leaving his friends without ever saying goodbye, never meeting Kurt.

Kurt must have read his mind because he gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"That's not where we're going if that's what you're worried about."

Dave turned his attention back to Kurt.

"Why would going to the pier worry me?" Dave asked nonchalantly, as they started walking along the beach.

"Dave," Kurt started to say after they took only a few steps before coming to a stop. Kurt turned to Dave, standing so that they were face to face. "Dave, I  _know_ …" Kurt's eyes glittered sorrowfully.

"Know what?"

Kurt took a deep breath.

"I had to go to my follow up appointment at the hospital the other day. For my leg."

"Okay," Dave said slowly, wondering what that had to do with anything.

"I ran into your friend. Santana. The nurse?"

_Oh…_

Dave felt nauseous.

"Oh… Oh God," he whispered.

"Please don't me mad at her. We started talking—just briefly. I guess she recognized me, somehow. She didn't tell me, exactly. It was more of an offhand comment that she made. I wasn't completely positive what she meant by it, but you sort of confirmed my suspicions when you told me your diagnosis at the restaurant. And then the comment about not knowing how to swim and then the way you keep looking at the pier…" The words spewed from Kurt like a faucet and Dave had to let go of his hand to squeeze his shoulder to get him to calm down.

"Kurt, it's fine," he said soothingly. "I would have told you eventually. You're just too observant, I guess. Can I ask what Santana said, though?"

"Yeah," Kurt took a steadying breath. "She said something like…  _'Dave might have saved your life, but you saved his.'"_

Dave shook his head. Santana was more sappy than he thought.

"I was going to do it on the pier," he confirmed automatically. "I didn't have a chance to, though… I passed out right before I could…"

"I'm glad," Kurt said firmly, slipping his hand into his once more.

"Me too," Dave sad softly. He bowed his head and look down at their hands and how perfectly they fit together. Kurt's hand felt slightly clammy, though.

"There's something I need to tell you." Kurt's voice still adopted the nervous tone from before. It explained the state of his hand. "Something I was never honest to you about. I never had a chance to bring it up. I was afraid of how you would react. Especially considering how you reacted…  _That_  night."

Dave looked up at Kurt, intrigued and uneasy all at once.

"What is it?"

Kurt took a steadying breath and set his shoes down in the sand, letting go of Dave's hand once more so he could wring the pair of his together fretfully.

"Do you remember when they wouldn't stop talking about the Blackout? The one thing they kept saying on the new was how they somehow were able to estimate that everyone was unconscious for a minute and seven seconds."

"Yeah?"

"Well, when I had the accident it was obvious that I was unconscious longer than that."

"What are you trying to say?"

"What I'm saying is… I didn't just see just a snippet of us. I saw… Longer? An hour at least. Or for as long as I was out of it. At least what I saw seemed to be a lot longer than just a minute."

Dave didn't know what to say.

"Does… Nothing bad happens does it?" Dave's brows knitted together.

"No!" Kurt assured him. "Not at all."

"Then what's the big deal?"

"It's just that… I know you're scared of what you saw. But then I was thinking to myself, maybe if you saw everything that I saw you wouldn't feel that way… Like I got the unfair advantage, or something."

"I think we met each other for a reason," Kurt continued adamantly. "That this  _happened_  for a reason, whether  _November ninth, twenty-twenty_  is a certainty or not," Kurt said sarcastically, wrapping air quotes around the date.

"I know that if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be here, standing _here_ ," Kurt pointed at the sand beneath them, "talking to you right now. You're the one who brought me back. But I'm not naïve enough to believe that we need each other—we figured ourselves out fine on our own."

"But what I do know is…" Dave could see Kurt's eyes welling up with tears. Despite the fact that he was trying to maintain his composure, he smiled, the most beautiful, toothy smile that he'd ever seen that he couldn't help but feel his eyes begin to water themselves. "That we would be  _great_  for each other. And I think, even if we went our separate ways and years passed, we would continue to find each other. Whether we lived in the same city or not."

"I know you're scared of what you saw in the dream. I am too, I mean I'm barely 23 years old and to think there's a chance I might have a kid by the time I'm 27… But then I think of just how happy I felt when I was with you and suddenly it doesn't seem so scary anymore. Suddenly, I'm looking forward to that part of my life and, I know this probably isn't a decision you'd like to make right this second, but…"

Dave couldn't stand it anymore. He needed Kurt to know that he made his mind up months ago. There was just nothing he could have done about it at the time. But now, as Kurt stood, barefoot, in front of him, suffused in a purple and orange glow, he could finally put the man's mind—both of their hearts, rather—at ease.

Taking a step towards Kurt, his toes sifting through the soft sand, he dropped his shoes. He didn't care about the sand that would be impossible to get out of them. He just needed Kurt. To feel him under his fingertips and be able to breathe him in once more.

Dave reached out to Kurt, and just briefly his eyes went wide with surprise as either of his hands cradled his face. He brought their lips together in a passionate kiss, but not before he caught the sharp hitch in Kurt's breath.

As Dave kissed Kurt, he let one hand glide down the arch of his neck to his shoulder as the other carded through the hair at the back of his neck. He could feel Kurt shudder in response as he slung his arms to wrap around Dave's shoulders.

When Dave finally pulled away his eyes were still closed as he attempted to register what had happened. They were both gasping for breath as Dave touched their foreheads together, their noses bumping together affectionately. Kurt wanted him—wanted to  _be_  with him. And he never felt so sure of the way he felt then and there, as he opened his eyes watching as Kurt's eyelashes fluttered open as well. It pained him to see the uncertainty still smoldering in Kurt's. He supposed he would have to spell it out for him.

"I don't need time to decide whether or not I want to be with you Kurt," Dave said softly.

"You don't?" Kurt blinked, as if he had confused Dave with some other person.

"No," Dave said unabashedly before pecking him on the lips. "Absolutely not. I'm not scared anymore, Kurt."

"Really? Not even a little bit?" Kurt said breathlessly. Dave couldn't help but let out a little snort. He loved how innocent Kurt could be. It was endearing how he was still trying to give him a way out. It wasn't going to work, though.

"That morning when I came out here to the pier… I was  _hopeless._  And then I saw you… I saw us." He absentmindedly brushed back a strand of Kurt's bangs that had fallen onto his forehead. It was a simple gesture, but he hoped that it translated into how much he cared about Kurt's person. That he would do anything to have an excuse to touch him.

"I was scared because the person I saw in myself didn't match this person that you seemed to fall in love with. In my eyes, there was no way what I saw could be true. Rather than giving me a reason to be hopeful, you gave me a reason to want to better myself. You're right. I  _don't_ think we need each. Look how far we've both come on our own. More than likely, we would be fine. But that doesn't change the simple fact that I  _want_ you, Kurt Hummel, more than I wanted anyone or anything in my whole life. It's not so much as  _'I can't live without you_ ', but  _'my life would be so much better with you in it so what the hell are we doing wasting time dancing around each other?_ '.

"The beginning wasn't easy. It rarely is. And I can't promise that the middle will be perfect either. But that  _ending_. God, if what we saw in our dream is where we end up, then I am going to look forward to every tomorrow I get to spend with you."

When Dave said his part, he noticed Kurt was crying and he his holding on to his heart and the other to his mouth—not because he was upset, like the last time Kurt cried in front of him, but because he was truly and unbelievably happy.

"David…" Kurt sniffed. Instead of kissing him, Dave pulled Kurt to him wrapping his arms around him tightly, securely, and kissed his neck.

"Wow…" Kurt spoke up, his voice still thick with emotion, but muffled against the fabric of his shirt. "That sounded a bit like a proposal."

Dave let out a humored laugh as Kurt pulled back, but only enough so that he could look at him.

"Let's not get _too_  ahead of ourselves," Dave said, "let's say it's more of a promise." It was a promise he swore to never break.

Kurt beamed at him, and Dave couldn't imagine a moment more perfect than this. The sun might have been setting in the sky before them, but their future never looked so bright.


	8. Going Home

"Thank you for tonight," Kurt said as he wound his arms around Dave's neck. He gave him a soft lingering kiss. "For everything."

"I meant what I said," Dave said stroking his hands up and down his back. He never told Dave just how much of the dream he saw, and what it entailed, but this little mannerism, the way he absentmindedly ran his fingers up and down his spine causing little pinpricks of pleasure to erupt over his body… It was a habit he must have maintained over the years.

"I guess this is goodnight," Kurt said. He watched as Dave's smile disappeared briefly, but then attempted to put it back in place. It was obvious he was disappointed. What he didn't know was Kurt had no intention of ending the night at that moment.

"Oh, right," Dave said, attempting to smile reassuringly. "Okay."

"I'll see you soon," Kurt said, pulling away from Dave to unlock the door to his house. He turned to look at Dave, standing on the porch with his hands stuffed into his pockets rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He felt awful, but he just had to be sure.

"Yeah of course," Dave said, his voice laden with false cheer. "Night."

Kurt gave him a small smile before slipping discretely into the house. The lights were all off, so he could safely assume Rachel and Mercedes weren't home—probably on a date with Finn and Puck. Kurt couldn't help but think of how odd it was that his group of friends found love with Dave's group of friends. It was pretty adorable, in his opinion.

But that wasn't important. Kurt shook his arms to calm his nerves and he took a deep breath. He told himself everything was going to be okay, as he looked through the peep hole of the door.

Just as he suspected, Dave was still standing there. He was leaning against the railing looking pensive, but didn't look completely put out.

Now was his chance.

Slowly, Kurt opened the door and poked his head out.

"Hey," he said coyly. Dave looked up, standing up straight and looking embarrassed to be caught on the porch after Kurt went inside.

"What's going on?" Dave asked nonchalantly.

"You didn't  _really_  think I wasn't going to invite you in, did you?" Kurt huffed.

"Well I was hoping, but… I could understand why you wouldn't want to rush into things."

"David, I just wanted to make sure Rachel and Mercedes weren't home," Kurt rolled his eyes as he came back out onto the porch. "We're roommates."

"Oh…" Dave stepped closer to Kurt, invading his circle of space much to his pleasure as he stroked his arms. "So now you want me to be your dirty little secret, huh?"

"No. I just want to have you to myself tonight." Kurt shamelessly fluttered his eyelashes.

"Oh." Dave gulped.

"So, do you want to come in?" Kurt took Dave's hand in both of his, ready to practically pull him into the house. But not yet…

"Oh course."

"There's something I should warn you about, though. When you come in." Kurt licked his lips.

' _Please don't freak out again.'_ He willed to Dave quietly. Not after all the progress they made that night.

"Okay… What?" Dave chuckled. "Do you horde cats? No wait, this isn't going to be some weird  _50 Shades of Gray_  shit is it? Am I going to have to sign a contract?" He wrinkled his nose in displeasure.

"God no," Kurt laughed. "But… I… I just don't want you to freak out, okay. I don't want you to think I moved in here for any other reason than the fact that it has three bedrooms and the three of us got it for an amazing price. But…" He bit his lip as he gave Dave's hand, that he was still holding, a shake. "There's a reason why I couldn't let you help us move in that day."

"Okay, Kurt…" Dave reached up to cup Kurt's cheek. "Whatever it is. I'm sure I can handle it." Dave stroked his cheek with the pad of his thumb and Kurt couldn't help but lean into the touch, heing reassured by it.

"Okay," he said with slight hesitation, "come on in."

Kurt pushed the door open so Dave would be able to step into the foyer first. And then he held his breath.

* * *

Dave didn't know what Kurt could be making such a big deal about. That was until he walked inside. And then he realized why Kurt would think it would be a big deal to  _him_.

"Oh my God," he said in bated breath. As he stepped further into the small, and neatly decorated house, he let his eyes take in his surroundings.

"I know," Kurt said from behind him, after he shut the door. Dave turned around to look at him. He needed confirmation that what he was seeing was real. There was no denying that it was.

"How…" Dave asked Kurt who gave a shrug.

"I don't know," was his simple answer.

"This… This is really happening isn't it," Dave said more to himself than Kurt, this time. He looked around the room, his heart pounding furiously in his chest—for once it wasn't from nerves or anxiety, but complete disbelief as well as excitement. "This wasn't just some crazy dream."

"No, I'm afraid not," Kurt said, answering him anyway.

It was  _the_ room. The  _house_. The house that he saw himself in in four years…  _Literally._

He imagined what it must have been like for Kurt to be out with his friends looking for real estate when they stumbled upon this one. Good deal or not, he probably would have bought it too.

Dave turned left of the foyer to meander into the living room, and stood in the spot where he remembered 'waking' up. He could feel Kurt's eyes on him as he stooped down, feeling the lush carpet beneath his fingers. There was no baby… Or even baby toys… No tinkling laugh… But it didn't feel empty. It felt new. New and fresh. Ready to be filled up with memories, much like a scrapbook.

But the one thing it did have—the most important thing—was Kurt.

"I'm glad," Dave said standing up, only to find Kurt wrapping his arms around his middle from behind. He let his hand cover Kurt's reassuringly.

"Me too."

Dave took Kurt's hands and gently coax them off of him so he could turn around only to capture Kurt's mouth in a hungry kiss.

For the first time in his life, Dave knew this was what he wanted—where he belonged. He remembered that day on the pier, and how life seemed too futile to live. He wondered what it would be like to drown. Whether it would hurt, or if it would be quick and painless. But now, as he stood there kissing Kurt like his life depended on it, he knew that this man, and his love, passion, and zest for life, was the only thing he wanted to drown in. His lungs ached as Kurt slipped his tongue inside his mouth, but he couldn't stop. He never wanted to stop until his entire being consisted of nothing but  _Kurt, Kurt, Kurt…_

He could feel himself being guided to a hallway, supposedly to Kurt's bedroom, just as he had done with Kurt on their first "date". When they had reached a door (Dave couldn't begin to know how many doors there were or what room it was, as his mind and hands were all too occupied at that time) Kurt was already shucking off his black cotton tee.

"God, I missed this," Kurt groaned as he wrapped his arms around his naked torso.

"I missed  _you_ ," he replied as he followed suit, taking off Kurt's shirt. Then they both removed their pants in a frenzy, kicking off their shoes, desperate to get back to running their hands all over each other once more. Kurt sat on the bed and reached out to Dave, snagging a hooked finger on the waistband of his briefs and pulling him closer. Once Dave was standing up Kurt, who was looking up at him with a mixture of longing and excitement, he gently pushed Kurt's shoulders so that he was falling onto his back with a laugh. Dave's mouth twisted into a smirk as he crawled on top of him. How could he have passed this up with Kurt all those months ago. It was so easy, with him—so natural.

"Oh!" Kurt gasped as Dave nibbled on his neck. Kurt wrapped his arms around Dave's back as Dave rolled his hips, their cocks rubbing against each other through the material of their briefs. The friction was exquisite and Kurt's head fell back upon his crimson comforter in a low groan. Kurt's hands dipped lower, slipping down Dave's briefs to dig his nails into Dave's asscheeks. Dave let out a hiss before leaving a biting kiss below Kurt's jaw.

"Fuck, Kurt," he said, sliding off of him. Kurt hands reached out, scrabbling for Dave to keep him from leaving.

"S'okay, just taking these off," he said reassuringly, his eyes not leaving Kurt's chest, already rosy with arousal, as he slipped his own boxers down his legs. That got Kurt's attention. He sat back on his elbows, his cock tenting in his briefs, and legs hanging off the bed. His lips were almost as red as the bedding from all the attention and shiny with spit, both Dave's and his own from biting his own lip. Kurt's eyes raked over Dave's body covetously. Dave loved seeing him like this. His hair in disarray, lips swollen, and his grey iris's nearly non-existent due to his dilated pupils. It was a far cry from his usual visage—all prim and proper. He loved both versions of Kurt, but he really couldn't get enough of this completely and sinfully indecent-looking man before him.

Turning his attention back to Kurt, Dave pulled at Kurt's waistband and Kurt lifted his hips to make the task easier for him. Once he had freed Kurt's cock it gave the man's taut lower belly a lewd smack. In one fluid motion Dave, went from tossing the article of clothing behind him to going down on his knees a second time, stroking Kurt's shaft and sucking eagerly on the head, his tongue dipping into the slit to mop up the precum that accumulated on the spongy surface. Dave stared at Kurt through his hazy, lust-clouded vision to see his mouth had fallen open as he watched his head bob up and down being assisted by Kurt's hand that grasped the short hair on the back of his head.

"Dav—oh fuck," Kurt gasped after a few minutes of and his back arched, his come already sliding down Dave's throat. He twisted his hands into the material of the blanket. Dave let Kurt's cock slip from his mouth and he climbed onto the bed.

"Sorry," Kurt sighed as Dave stretched out next to him. Kurt rolled over so he could stroke Dave's cock in a loose fist. "I guess I got a little too excited."

"Don't apologize," Dave said, rolling onto his back and pulling Kurt on top of him. "We got all night, right?"

"Mmhmm," Kurt said as he slipped his hand between their bodies. He circled the glans of Dave's cock with a teasing thumb. "Unless you have somewhere to be in the morning."

"You know the best part about my new job," Dave said a little breathlessly. Kurt hummed questioningly. "Is that I get to set my own hours."

"How very convenient. So you don't mind staying over, right?" Dave lifted his head so he could see Kurt better.

"No, why?"

"Because of the date… Today's November 8th." Kurt pointed out. "You're not afraid you're going to wake up tomorrow and have a kid and husband tying you down or anything."

Dave laughed, as Kurt began nibbling on his neck.

"Unless you got a surrogate on call," Dave said, and Kurt looked up giving him a scolding smile.

"I'll be here, Kurt. You don't have to worry." Dave raised his hand to Kurt's cheek, grazing the skin with the back of his knuckles.

"Is that a promise?" Kurt asked, he wiggled down lower towards Dave's abdomen. Dave let his head fall back as his cock was surrounded in a wet hot suction. He could only nod.

He wouldn't miss it for the world.

* * *

Kurt woke up the next morning to find his bed empty.

He didn't know what could have gone wrong. Everything about the night before had been perfect, but he knew it had to have been the parenthood related comment. Or maybe it was because he told Dave how much he loved his hair chest during round two. He meant it though. It was one of his most favorite features of Dave's, besides his devilishly-handsome smile and thick cock. He couldn't stop analyzing every little detail. Anything that he said that could have driven him away.

He didn't have too much time to dwell on it after he woke up. As he sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor with only his clothes scattered upon it, he heard a creak of the front door and then the plod of footsteps down the hall towards his door. It had to have been Rachel or Mercedes coming home from their night out with their own boyfriends.

But it wasn't.

Kurt looked up, ready to cover his the rest of his naked torso with the blanket that was pulled over his lap, when he found Dave was entering his bedroom carrying a cardboard tray of cups, wearing a fresh set of clothes as well as a ridiculously happy expression on his face.

"Oh, you're awake. Damn, I wanted to surprise you," he looked genuinely disappointed at Kurt's lack of unconsciousness.

"I thought you left."

"Nah," Dave said shaking his head. "After last night, are you kidding? I needed to run home to take my medication. I didn't want to skip a dosage. I wasn't thinking about that at the time. I was a bit distracted." Dave winked at Kurt and relief instantly flooded Kurt's system, as well as a fresh dose of oxytocin.

"You're such a ham," Kurt said, standing up and pulling the blanket with him. He kissed Dave fondly.

"What's all that," he asked when he pulled away. He pointed at the cups. "I thought you didn't like coffee."

"I don't. That's why I decided it would probably be best if I bought four different kinds. You're bound to like one of them." Kurt picked up each of the cups, reading the sides until he gleefully found one that said "mocha latte." He took a sip of the delectable liquid.

"Why don't you come back to bed…" Kurt offered. "Since you don't have any place to be this early on a Wednesday morning."

"I think I could spare another two hours."

"I wonder what we could do, two more times, in two hours?"

"Only two more times? You underestimate me. But I can think of a few things," Dave said, kicking his shoes off.

When they were back under the covers, they merely let themselves explore each other in a way they haven't yet. Kissing each other and letting their hands take their time and they found the places that made each other giggle from ticklishness or keen with arousal. As Dave let his finger gently stroke the cleft of Kurt's asscheeks, Dave spoke up.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Oh course," Kurt said lazily.

"What else exactly, did you see… In the dream?"

"What?" Kurt's eyes flew open, looking at Dave as if he committed a huge offense. "I can't tell you that?"

"Why not?" Dave scoffed.

"Because that's cheating," Kurt explained as if that answer was very obvious to him. "What if you were only meant to see so much?"

"That's not fair," Dave pouted, he stopped his movements just as his finger began to dip into the crevice. "You got to see more than I did."

"Fair? You're the one being the tease," Kurt said, trying to rock back on his finger.

"You can't even give me a little tidbit of information? Please…?"

"Fine what do you want to know?" Kurt said impatiently.

"I don't know… It was good right? You said nothing bad happened."

"Oh no," Kurt agreed. "It was  _very_  good."

"Okay, now you're the one who's being the tease."

"Alright, fine, I'll tell you. But just a little bit." Dave sat up at that looking eager. Kurt was blushing furiously as he picked at loose piece of thread on the comforter.

"I might have seen us… Having sex."

"No way…"

"Yes."

"And?"

"I'd say, after four years… You had gotten to know me  _very_  well."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes, I was very… Vocal."

"I guess I need to up my game then," Dave said. "So  _how_ were you vocal exactly? Were you like…  _Agreeable_ vocal or…" He drawled, wondering what else it could be.

"More like, _'reminding you of your first name'_  vocal."

"I see so…  _Oh_ …," Dave snorted, just remembering something. "Oh my God."

"What? What's so funny?" Kurt demand.

"Oh god…" Dave said, cracking up with laughter. "I don't know if I can say it."

"What is it?" Kurt nudged Dave. "You're supposed to be my husband in four years, there's no keeping secrets from me, mister."

"Fuck, okay…" Dave said wiping the tears from his eyes. "Please don't be upset."

"Okay… Not making me very optimistic here, sweetie."

"Well… The thing is, the day you were brought in to the hospital… According to the Finn and Puck, you sort of… Kept saying my name over and over."

"And…" Kurt said not understanding the connection Dave made. Until…

" _No_ …" Kurt let out a gasp.

Dave rolled over laughing. When Kurt found it impossible to push him out of the bed, he grabbed the pillow behind him, and began to pummel the man.

"Why are you laughing?" Dave continued to laugh despite the fluffy assault. "That's so embarrassing. I was practically creaming my pants while I was unconscious and you think it was a joke?"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Dave cried, holding his hands up over his head. "Please. Truce."

"You better not mention this to the guys." Kurt retreated, putting down the pillow. His face was on fire.

"I won't. You have my word."

For the rest of the morning, the two stayed in bed. Dave with his head on Kurt's chest as he told him, in the vaguest of details, what their future had looked like—the jobs that they had, and how all their friends were still in their lives. Dave had understood why Kurt would want to keep some elements of his dream to himself. Sure, they had a long way to go, and Dave wasn't the most patient man in the world, but he had to remind himself… Life was about the journey, not the destination.


	9. Epilogue: Four Years Later

Kurt Hummel stood on the porch of his front house, rifling through his set of keys in one hand as he struggled to hold the nearly foot tall stack of papers and editorials and articles in the other. It was nearing 5 o'clock and it was his first day in his new position as Associate Editor at Runway Mag. After nearly four years of assisting, he was finally his own person now. Well, almost. He still had a ways to go before he was the head editor, but he was patient. The years had been the best instructor in patience.

Once he found the right key, Kurt slipped it into the lock and slowly turned it so that it wouldn't make a click. Once he removed the key he slowly pushed the door open and looked inside.

His husband was nowhere to be seen.

Good.

Despite the fact that it was his new day on the job, he managed to convince Liliana to allow him to leave early due to the special occasion. He wanted to surprise Dave, so he slipped inside and immediately toed off his shoes so as not to cause a commotion.

Immediately, Kurt's senses were overwhelmed with the sound of a jingling coming from the living room and some amazing smell coming from the kitchen. He craned his neck looking past the sofa to see little Braden laying on his back and playing with the dangling toys from his little Fisher-Price gym.

"Hi, sweetie," Kurt in a whisper as he let the little boy grab his finger. He smiled at the slobbery grin he received before standing up, wondering where on earth his husband could be. Kurt went into the kitchen to find it in complete disarray. He almost wanted to be mad, thinking he would have a mess to clean up, but then he saw a couple dishes that were set aside and piled with Thai food, and from the looks of of the splattered stove and the pots and pans in the kitchen sink, it was all homemade.

To his  _surprise_ … He was actually  _surprised._

Kurt turned around smiling to himself as he tried to find another place to put his stack of papers. The table was completely clean, thankfully, but on the corner sat a small vase containing only four roses surround in  _baby's breath_. Two white roses and two red. The number of roses, in total, counted the years since their first date.

Next to the vase sat a simple white card. There were no frills to the gift, but Kurt still closed his eyes as he held the card in his hands and two fat tears leaked from his eyes. He knew exactly what is was going to say, but it had been too long since he had seen the words. Too long since he had waited for this day. It was something to celebrate, even if it felt no different than any other day of the year. Holding his breath he opened the card and on the top, the date was displayed proudly in his husband's slanted handwriting.

_November 9_ _th_ _, 2020_

_Dear Kurt,_

_You are the love of my life and the reason I draw breath. Four years ago you saved my life, and the only way I can think to repay you is to promise to love you for as long as my beating heart allows._

_Proudly Yours… Now, forever, and always,_

_David_

Kurt let out a sniffle and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. Some days (and by  _some days_  he meant  _everyday_ ) he felt as though his heart could burst just from the sheer amount of love that he felt for this man. It had only grown over the years, but reading this card, now, he knew he made the right choice all those years ago. The choice not to kick Dave out of the booth at the Thai restaurant when he boldly decided to pretend to be his date. And he had eventually decided that, yes, it was a date.

Kurt set the card down just as he heard a noise behind him and he turned around.

Dave had strode right out of the hallway, and back into the living room where he sat down on the carpet next to Braden. He hadn't seen Kurt standing to his left as he made a beeline for the little boy.

With a fond look on his face, Kurt watched Dave as he littered the little boy with kisses. He covered his own mouth to keep from giggling. Kurt was still amazed by how good he was with Braden, and how it amused him to no end—always teasing about the time Dave once confessed to him how he never dreamed of having kids. It was ironic that the toddle and David were practically attached to the hip.

Carefully, so as to not alert Dave to his presence as he checked his phone that just buzzed, Kurt padded across the carpet so that he was standing right behind Dave. Right as he stood, Kurt chose to wrap his arms around his waist. It might as well have been scripted.

Dave didn't jump at his unvoiced arrival. Though he supposed Dave would have known, for four years, that this moment was coming. As Dave slipped the phone back into his pocket, not bothering to read the text or see who it is was from, he pressed his lips against Dave's neck.

"Thank you," he said as Dave revolved on the spot to face him. Four years later and David Karofsky was still the most breathtaking man he ever laid eyes on. Thirty-four was a good age for him. His naturally golden skin and his warm, mossy-green eyes that sparkled with an unbelievable amount of happiness and vitality; it was practically contagious and Kurt found himself grinning goofily like a lovesick boy in high school. All he could think of was how badly he wanted to capture those lips with his own, so he was more than happy when Dave did. He felt like the most loved man in the world as Dave cupped his face and brought their lips together, kissing him with such sincerity… Like he had something to prove. Like he needed him to know just how spectacular he was.

And he did know. But only because Dave told him everyday.

"I love you, Kurt," Dave said, and he brushed his lips against Kurt's once more as if to punctuate that fact. Kurt didn't doubt his words as he pulled back and saw Dave's eyes mirroring his own and glittering with unshed tears of happiness. Kurt pressed his lips into a fine line, trying to fight the growing smile on his face. He couldn't begin to find the words to match Dave's, both spoken and those in the card. The way he felt inside, and the love he carried in his heart for the man who saved his life, was like a dam ready to burst.

"I love you too, David," he said without an ounce of uncertainty, and Dave wrapped his arms around his shoulders practically enveloping him as he nuzzled his nose into the hair at the top of his head, inhaling his scent.

"How was your first day on the new job?" Dave asked, not letting go of Kurt.

"Wonderful," Kurt voiced against Dave's chest. "But not as wonderful as being back home with you."

"Only because you were looking forward to another kind of job here, right?" Dave waggled his eyebrows and Kurt slapped his arm, shushing him. Four years and nothing had changed.

"Not while Braden's here," Dave scolded. "Santana is going to kill you, you know that right?" Kurt said, moving back to the living room to pick his nephew off the floor.

"You do realize he's 18 months right?" Dave said, following him. "I'm pretty sure he doesn't have the mental capacity to understand carefully placed suggestions of blow jobs."

"You're horrible," Kurt said, just as the door bell rang. "See that will be them. Here to take our nephew away before you can completely corrupt him." Dave rolled his eyes as he went to open the door to see the Lopez-Pierce's standing on the other side of the door.

"Glad to see you're still incapable of returning my text messages," Santana said as Brittany was instantaneously reaching out for her son and cooing for him. They were both wearing their matching scrubs—mauve, that day—having just left their shift at the hospital.

"I can't help it if I was too busy having fun with this little guy," Dave said, smoothing down Braden's tuft of hair, and Braden grabbed his finger to gnash on it.

"Thanks for watching him," Santana said as Dave freed his finger and handed her the baby bag.

"It's no problem, you know how much I adore him."

"Well, I know how special today is for you two."

"It's special day for all of us, Santana." Kurt added as he slip his arm around Dave's waist. "But it's not your fault you had to cover for somebody at work." Santana nodded.

"Well, we're going to head off. I'm sure Dave has something special planned for you, the big teddy bear."

"We're just having a quiet night in, San."

"I'm sure you are," Santana said, eyeing the two of them. Kurt swore she and Dave had to be related somehow. "Ready Britt?" she asked, slipping her pinky into her wife's free hand and waving at Kurt and Dave with the other.

"Bye!" Kurt called out as they walked down the porch steps. Dave shut the door.

"So…" Dave said, suggestively. "About that _'something special'_ …"

Kurt was already loosening his tie by the time Dave locked the door. By the time they reached the bedroom their was a noticeable trail of clothes behind them.

* * *

Kurt snuggled in closer to Dave's body. His arm draped over his torso, and Dave's fingertips dragged up and down his back. He could easily stay wrapped up in that man's arms forever.

"We should probably get cleaned up," Dave said in a low rumble. Kurt could only burrow his nose deeper into his husband's chest hair. He closed his eyes.

"I don't wanna," he said like a petulant child. "Too sleepy."

"What about dinner?" Dave asked.

"Just a few more minutes," Kurt offered. "This is nice. I missed this.  _Not_  that I would change anything."

"So you wouldn't change… Anything?" Dave asked, curiously Kurt looked up.

"Well…" He intoned, giving a little shrug. "Everything is so perfect. Perfect job, perfect house, perfect friends and husband. I'm happy with the way things are, but sometimes I just wonder what your thoughts are on… Adoption."

"Adoption?" Dave repeated. "Well, you know how much I love Brady, but… Do you think we're ready for that… to raise a child of our own?"

"Well, I don't see why not? You're working at the clinic and can set your own hours. I may be working a little bit more, but the money makes up for it. We have two spare bedrooms since Rachel and Mercedes moved out. I think… I think we'd make great parents, don't you?" Kurt pondered.

"Yeah," Dave said in affirmation. "I think we would," Dave said as he kissed Kurt softly and pulled him closer.

"Is this what you thought it would be like?" Kurt intoned. "Four years ago. When we found out what would happen?" He felt Dave's hand, coaxing his chin up so he could match his gaze.

"No," Dave said, his voice as certain as the undying love they had for each other. "It's far better than I ever dreamed."

And to Kurt,  _that_  was saying something.

 


End file.
